


lilli^^i.:.'^^ 



i 

ill 



lii''^ 



f LIBRARY OF CONGRESS^ 



if ^.^^fpoi^- ^ 

j jMefrmS. 

> W 

I UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.^ 

— - — — — — — — ■ — '^>f5l 



EARLY BUDS. 



^ 



LYDIA M. RENO 



fV7 



O, lightly, gently, kindly deal ; 

Remembering still the truth, 
My buds were culled amid bright dews 

In mom of early youth. 



BOSTON AND CAMBRIDGE: 
JAMES MUNROE AND COMPANY. 

M DCCC LIII. 






r:iitiroil, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, hy 
L E w I s R E N o , ■? 

In iht Clerk's Office of the District Court of the DiRtrict of M-osstichusctts. 



STEREOTYPED AT THE 
lOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY. 
PKESS O. C. RAND, CORNHILI.. 



^tBfart. 



^ My Early Buds, I send ye forth 

^ With fearful, trembUng heart ; 

Unknowing what your fate may be 

When from me ye depart. 
O, ye who take the garland up, • 

'Twined in youth's early trust, 
O, do not dash it coldly down, 
To wither in the dust ; — 

But Hghtly, gently, kindly deal ; 

Remembering still the truth, 
My Buds were culled, amid bright dews. 

In morn of early youth. 
Then judge not harshly, or condemn ; 

Ye know not what ye do ; 
For if the tide of song be checked, 

The fount must perish too. 

L. M. R. 



Cnntfnts 



PAGE 

The Spirit Land, . .9 

Little May, • .... 13 

Stanzas, 17 

The -winged Visitor, 19 

Dirge for a Child, 21 

A Dream, 24 

Spring Flowers, 27 

lines written on my fifteeixth Birthday, 30 

Guardian Angels, 32 

I saw thee once, 34 

A Lament, 38 

Beauty and Worth, 40 

The Eagle, 43 

Entrance of the Vale, 45 

The Thunder Storm, 47 

The Return, 49 

A Dirge for my little Sister, 53 

The Voice of Woe 56 

Woman's Rights, . 5S 

AVhen I am gone, 61 

The Stars of Night, Go 

1* 5 



6 CONTENTS. 

Spring, 68 

Farewell, 71 

Lines, 73 

The young Minister, 76 

Night, 79 

The dying Girl, 82 

The old Oak Tree, 87 

I love thee, 91 

Life, 93 

Fragment, 9-5 

Farewell, Mary, 96 

A Tribute to the Memory of Mrs. S. W. B., . . . . . . 98 

The Daffodils, 101 

I know that my Redeemer liveth, 104 

The Soul, 106 

The Snow, 108 

Despondency, .111 

Wouldst pinion the Eagle ? . . . . ! . . . .114 

In Life and Death unchanging still, 117 

The Early CaUed, 119 

The Midsummer Night, 121 

Mary's Return, 124 

Flowers, 126 

To thee, 128 

Autumn Winds, 131 

To my early Friend, 134 

Death of the Only One, 137 

O, Earth is very beautiful, 139 

Affection, 141 

Mother, thy Baby is asleep, 143 

I think of thee, 145 



CONTENTS. 



Piaver, 



148 



? 168 



The Snowdrop, ^^^ 

Wallace, 1^3 

Father and Mother, 155 

The Sunset, '. . . 157 

They sleep in Dust, 1^1 

Come to me now, .... 16o 

Do you remember 

Thou art fading, 172 

Will ye think of me ? 176 

A Winter Scene, 1^^ 

A Dream of Heaven, l^'* 

We were Children together, 188 

The Early Lost, 1^^ 

The Trial of Love, 1^2 

The Graveyard, 1^^ 

Song, 199 

Lines to , ^^^ 

oi I, . . 203 
Slumber on, 

Come to the Forest, ^^^ 

ToMrs. Lydial. Pierson, 210 

Father, forgive, ^^^ 

^ 214 

Dreams, 

October, "^^^ 

A Dream of thee, 

The Stars, ^^^ 

The Bhghted Bud, -^^ 

The Lost Treasures, ""' 

The Last Look, ^^^ 

The Parting of Napoleon a:id Jo';rph:uc, 233 

A Dirge for Lila, 235 



8 CONTENTS. 

I bless tliee, O my Father ! 237 

Lost Maggie, 241 

S^\atzerlaud, 248 

Lines to the Memory of Mrs. Mary Dexter 250 

Thou art changed, 253 

Apostrophe to Death, 257 

Death's Reply, 259 

Minstrel, sing, 261 

Weep, 263 

Thou art afar, 266 

Forgive, 269 

Triumph, . . . • .271 

Where are they ? 272 

A Paraphrase of the Lord's Prayer, 275 

I Avould not be forgotten, . 290 

Love, 292 

Old Memories, 294 

To the Spirit of Mrs. Hemans, . .297 

The Angel's Visit to Earth, 302 

Winter Wind, . . . ' 306 



ilje spirit f nni. 



'Tls sweet, when tempests earth deform, 
And whirlwinds sweep the slty. 

To know a haven from the storm, 
When worlds themselves must die." 



I^HE Spirit Land ! the Spirit Land ! 
- Forever fadeless doth it stand ; 
Desideratum of the soul, 
Though Jordan's sullen waters roll. 

The constant eye of steadfast faith, 
Through gloom, that clouds the wave of death, 
With exultation e'en can gaze 
On its primeval glory blaze. 

The tree of healing, ever there, 

Waves its bright boughs in cloudless air ; 



10 EARLY BUDS. 

Taste but its fruits, and evermore 

The anguish of thy heart is o'er. 

The river Life Eternal flows, 
And angels on its banks repose ; 
Drink, where the waters gushing burst ; 
Drink, that ye nevermore may thirst. 

Immortal souls are hastening on ; 
In hoary age, and youth's bright dawn, 
They're crossing still the shadowy wave : 
Mount Zion's shores are o'er the grave. 

Their ears are raptured by the song 
That rises from the ransomed throng ; 
They go to swell the symphony 
Of deathless bliss, from sorrow free. 

And they have flown to that bright coast,- 
The fond, the pure, the early lost, — 
And, waiting for us, now they stand 
At portals of the Spirit Land. 



EARLY BUD 8. 11 

Then be thou strong, sad child of care, 
And let thy heart be centred there. 
Soon shalt thou hear the summons home : 
Rest for the weary ; wanderer, come. 

And take thy lyre, thou child of song, 
And haste away to join the throng ; 
'Twill echo back a nobler strain 
When praising God, the Lamb once slain. 

And murmur not, thou drooping one. 
Though setting be thy young life's sun ; 
The glorious Sun of righteousness 
Will, rising, gently whisper peace. 

Sweeter to cross the wave at morn — 
Ere 'midst the flowers thou find'st a thorn — 
Than linger here till winter's night 
Sheds its chill snows thy heart to blight. 

Thou'rt passing where eternal youth, 
And purity, and love, and truth, 



12 EAKLY BUDS. 

Summer and sunshine wondrous fail 
In heaven's radiance perfect there. 

Let a triumphant paean sweep, 
And swell with exultation deep ; 
My soul with rapture doth expand, 
To know there is a Spirit Land. 



little Ps. 

IN the longest days of summer, 
When the earth was thick with flowers, 
On the river danced the smibeams, 
In rich floods of golden showers. 
When the birds were singing sweetest, 

On the fragrant, leafy spray, 
Then she faded 'midst the blossoms, 
Our bright treasure, little May. 

When she came, we thought we loved her 
Dearly as our souls could love ; 

But each softly-passing moment 

Still our hearts would fonder prove. 

2 '^ 



14 EARLY BUDS. 

Azure eyes, and silken tresses, 

Golden as thS sunny ray ; 
0, our very lives were woven 

With the life of little May. 

And when sickness fell upon her, 

How we shrunk beneath the rod ! 
For we knew it was the Father 

Calling for our household god. 
In the stilly summer even, 

With the sunbeam's parting ray. 
Hovering angels up to heaven 

Bore the soul of little May. 

Wildly weeping, hung we round her, 

From her brow smoothed back the hair ; 
Placed our hands o'er her yoimg bosom, 

But there were no throbbings there. 
Like a pale and spotless lily, 

Pure and beautiful she lay ; 
Death's dark angel had not taken 

Loveliness from little May. 



I 



EARLY BUDS. 15 

0, the sorrow, 0, the anguish, 

When we felt no pressure warm. 
And no kiss returning answer 

From her lifeless, rigid form. 
And the little narrow coffin, 

And the grave, the fresh, cold clay : 
Damp clods rattling on the bosom 

Of our darling bright-haired May. 

'Twas as if a spell had bound us,— 

Awful spell we could not break, — 
And we feared within her chamber 

E'en an echo light to wake. 
Deadening was the weight of sorrow 

That upon our spirits lay, 
As in vain we watched and listened 

For the step of blue-eyed May. 

But it came not ; and our spirits 

Grew through length of time resigned. 

Though the memory of our treasure 
Liveth ever in our mind. 



16 EARLY BUDS. 

And full often, as we wander 

Where glad-hearted children play, 

Even think we see the gleaming 
Of the golden hair of May. 

Yet we know that, now exalted 

Far beyond the farthest star, 
Our fair darling now is singing, 

Even as the angels are. 
On the bosom of the Shepherd, 

In the realms of endless day, 
Rests our lamb, our loved, our treasure, 

Happy, little, bright-haired May. 



Stomas, 



** Visions of beauty, wild and bright. 
Are nestling in my brain." 



OFOR an eagle's plume'd wings, 
To bear me far from earthly things ! 
I'd bathe in yon celestial clouds 
That float around like fleecy shrouds. 

The world is bright before my eyes ; 
No dark, uncertain clouds arise ; 
Like a wild bird upon the wing. 
No song of sorrow can I sing. 

My harp is tuned to lively themes ; 
It wanders off in fairy dreams ; 

2* ^' 



18 EARLY BUDS. 

I cannot teach its quivering chords 
To warble numbers forth in words. 

For, 0, my breast is glad and free ; 
I see a pleasure in each tree ; 
A glorious, sunset evening hour 
Hath o'er my heart a thrilling power. 

The peaceful river's sparkling tide — 
Where the bright waves serenely glide, 
As if rejoicing in their might — 
Doth fill my soul with wild delight. 

But years may waft me down life's stream, 
And chase away my youthful dream ; 
And age may come, with withered face, 
To fill a young and buoyant place. 

Yet, still, whate'er to me is shared, 
0, may I bear with heart prepared ; 
And, while I deem it from my God, 
Bow meekly 'neath the chastening rod. 



rpHE night storm raged without, wild, dark, and dreary; 
-*- No ray of light illumined east or west ; 
A little bird, with pinions wet and weary, 
Tapped gently on my window pane for rest. 

I raised the lattice, and tlie little wanderer, 

With plumage damp, and trembling, drooping form, 

Flew quickly, gladly into my warm chamber. 
Rejoiced to find a shelter from the storm. 

I kept it till the morning sun was streaming 
With beams of splendor in each glorious ray. 

And fleecy clouds in the bright heavens were gleaming : 
The wild, dark tempest all had passed away. 



20 EARLY BUDS. 

And then I knew the light-winged bird was pining 
For the dear freedom of its own blue sky ; 

And, the sweet treasure of one night resigning, 
I oped the window as I bade it fly. 

And 0, the song^the thrilling burst of gladness, 
That rose upon the morning's balmy air ! 

As if to sing away each thought of sadness, 
It lingered long upon the oak tree there. 

Bird, if the night storm should again overtake thee. 
And thou be lost amid the tumult deep, 

Then come to me ; thrice welcome will I make thee. 
And shield thee, gladly, from the tempest's sweep. 



f irp for H Cp&. 



' It must be sweet iii cliildhood to give back 
The spirit to its Maker, ere tlie heart 
Has grown familiar witli the paths of siu, 
And sown, to garner up its bitter fruits." 

Mks. SiGorK>"i.i 



A AVAILING cry of anguisli swept 
Around a dying bed ; 
A fair young mother wildly wept 
Her first born, and her dead. 



0, forms were bowed, whose loving hearts 

Were almost rent in twain ; 
And lips were wildly pressed to his, 

That answered not again. 

The soul, through all that weary night, 
Was struggling to be free : 



22 EARLY BUDS. 

But, Father, with the morning light 
He was asleep with thee. 

Ah, yes ; asleep in Jesus, there 

Upon his couch he lay ; 
And brightly on his forehead fair 

Fell the first beam of day. 

But now all agony was o'er, 

All suffering was past ; 
His hands were clasped, his eyes were closed, 

His heart had throbbed its last. 

0, strange are we in this cold world, — 
Where each fond hope is riven, — 

That we should murmur thus to yield 
An angel back to heaven ; — 

Should grieve to see the cheek grow pale, 

And dim the loving eyes, 
E'en when we know the raptured soul 

Is passing to the skies. 



EARLY BUDS. 23 

But O, the strong, deep sympathies 

Implanted in the breast 
Will wildly wail o'er severed ties, 

And cannot be at rest. 

Yet spotless to the Father's fold 

The gentle lamb has fled ; 
Then let not tears of anguish mourn 

The blesse'd, early dead. 



^ ^xmiM 



And could thia be but mere illusion ? 

Could fancy all so real seem ? 
Sure fancy's scenes are wild confusion; 

And can it be I did but dream?" 



T DREAMED, and 0, the blissful dream 
-^ My spirit had of thee ! 
0, sacred, heavenly, even now, 
Its memory unto me. 

Methought the night was wild and dark, 

No cheering star to guide ; 
Yet little recked I of the storm, 

For thou wert by my side. 

Thy kind arms clasped my trembling form, 
Thy whispers met my ear ; 



EARLY BUDS. 

My all of bliss was near me then -— 
How could my spirit fear ? 

Thy cold indifference all was gone, 

And gone thy careless tone ; 
And fondly didst thou say thy heart 

Throbbed but for me alone. 

Within each breast love reigned with deep 

And overwhelming power ; 
Methinks the very bliss of heaven 

Could scarce transcend that hour. 

'Twas but a dream ; and 0, what woe 

To wake, and find it prove 
A baseless vision ! but on earth 

I'll never cease to love. 

Yet thou art happy : be it so ; 

Thy happiness is mine ; 
How could I bear that thought of woe 

Should cloud that brow of thine ? 

3 



25 



26 EARLY BUDS. 

And 0, 'tis untold bliss to know, 
Though thou art here denied, 

In yon bright heaven my weary soul 
May wander by thy side. 



spring |l0ters, 

T HAVE brought the first flowers of spring 
-^ From a lovely and lonely vale, 
Where the streamlets flow, and the breezes sing, 
And the night winds wildly wail. 

And the feathery fern leaf grows, 

And the gentle young daisies rest, 
And the waving pine tree its shadow throws 

On the rill's low-murmuring breast. 

And the birds are singing sweet. 
And the grass grows green and fair, 

And the graves of my kindred, that calmly sleep, 
Are made on the hill top there. 



28 EAULY BUDS. 

And the wind from the southern clime, 

It maketh the rose bush wave, 
And shake down its blossoms, in summer time, 

On my little sister's grave. 

'Tis a long, long time ago ; 

Years have rolled in their channels deep. 
With their joy, and sorrow, and care, and woe, 

Since they laid her down to sleep. 

And I was too young to know ; 

And I called her, and deemed she slept ; 
But my mother's tears were my answer then, 

And I wist not why she wept. 

0, yes, it is long ago ; 

Yet the same dark pine trees rise, 
And the same pale moon, and the brilliant star, 

Shine down through the summer skies. 

'Tis a beautiful spot to rest, 
When the spirit hath crossed life's wave ; 



EARLY BUDS. 29 

The sinking sun in the glowing west 
Shines bright on each turfy grave. 

And when weary with care and woe, 

And my spirit is over-tried, 
I shall bid farewell to this lonely world, 

And lie down by my sister's side, — 

And the night wind above my bed, 

Where calmly in death I sleep. 
Will sigh through the tall grass mournfully, 

And hush me to slumbers deep. 

It is meet that we all should die. 
For the spirit would be oppressed ; 

And Mother Earth calls her children hon:ic, 
To sleep on her gentle breast. 
3* 



fines iDtittcii oil nig fifteenth iirtljtofi^ 



" The dreams of each successive year 
Seemed bathed in hues of brighter pride." 

Willis G. Clakke. 



TTAYE fifteen years now passed away, 
-■-J- And left me here this happy day ? 
So short, so fair the time has been, 
I cannot think I am fifteen. 

Yes, fifteen years have o'er me sped, 
My hours with joy and gladness fed ; 
It seemeth like a passing scene ; 
I cannot think I am fifteen. 

No care by me has e'er been borne ; 
Loving my friends, loved in return, 



EAKLY BUDS. 31 

Was to my heart the dearest thing 
That this glad earth can ever bring. 

I never tasted sorrow's draught ; 
By other lips it hath been quaffed ; 
My life has been a summer day, 
That gayly passed so swift away. 

The earth's green carpet, decked with flowers, 
The summer sky, the rosy bowers. 
The singing birds upon the lea. 
Were all a world of joy to me. 

0, should my God prolong my life 
On this glad earth, with gladness rife, 
My prayer is, that each year I last 
May be as bright as that that's past. 



^uarMiiu angels. 



When o'er the eurth is hovering balmy Bleep, 
And watching angels their pure vigils keep." 

T.W.Lane. 



nriHEY tell me of angels, that brightly roam 
-■- From a world of shadows, where all is bloom ; 
Of a fair, a joyous, and happy band, 
That come to earth from the Spirit Land. 

They're here but to guide our poor, weary feet, 
When the storms of trouble and sorrow beat ; 
To cheer and guard by their gentle love. 
And lead us up to the home above. 

At midnight hour they are round our bed, 
When the curtain of slumber is o'er us spread, 



EARLY BUDS. 33 

And bring bright dreams on their gentle breatli 
Of their sunny home, o'er the wave of death. 

O that some kind angel would stand by me, 
To guard me from evils I may not see, 
To cheer and guide me, while here I roam 
In this land of sorrows, my earthly home ! 

For I know I'm a wilful and wayward child, 
That my heart is stubborn, my passions wild, 
My daring' spirit ill brooks control, 
And longs to be free as the waves that roll. 

Then hover around me, ye angels bright ; - 
0, come from the mansions of joy and light ; 
And spread your wings over all I love, 
And lead us up to the home above ! 



I sato t\m mtt 



& 



There are moments in life that are never forgot, 
Which brighten and brighten aa time steals away ; 

They give a new charm to the hapi)ic'st lot, 
And they shine on the gloom of the loneliest day." 

rEECIVAL. 



T SAW thee once, and ever now 
-*- There is a void within my heart ; 
A shadow lingering on my brow, 
Which will not part. 

I gazed into those eyes that burn, 

Those dreamy, liquid orbs of thine ; 
And on me now, where'er I turn, 
They seem to shine. 



EARLY BUDS. 35 

I heard thee sing, and O, that song ! 

I fancy I can hear it still ; 
It swept my spirit's chords along 
With strange, deep shrill. 

You sang a dirge — 0, sad and lone — 

For beauty early passed away ; 
The echo of that mournful tone 
Must ever stay. 

Then of deep love your sweet lips sung, 
Love that would triumph over death ; 
O, while it trembled on your tongue 
I hushed my breath. 

When next to faith was tuned thy lay, 

My doubting soul could e'en receive ; 
0, still I seem to hear thee say, 
Lord, I believe. 

Whene'er the song was gay and bright. 
Thy features wore a winning smile, 



36 EARLY BUDS. 

That seemed to sav, My licart is liglit ; 
Be glad a while. 

And when the solemn, dirge-like tone, 
All quivering from thy spirit, rose. 
Thy voice was tremulous and lone 
For others' woes. 

When breathing love, in that bright hour, 

Impassioned glances seemed to prove 
That thou hadst known the thrilling power 
Of mighty love. 

But 0, to victory and faith, 

Thine was a look of holy trust. 
That spoke, I'll triumph over death, 
Though in the dust. 

Yea, every feature seemed to say, — 

Thy upraised eyes, thy throbbing heart. 
Ye may not fetter down to clay 
The immortal part. 



EARLY BUDS. 3^ 



Thy memory is a mournful spell, 

A sad; yet sweetly-lingering dream 
But O, my soul must say ftirewell, 
Till o'er death's stream. 

4: 



I lltllUllt. 



■" Knowing but love's unclouded sun, 
Her dream of earth was bright as brief 
Rejoice that, when the goal she won. 
Her crown had not a withered leaf." 
E. 



r\ THEY have laid thee sadly down to rest, 
^^? The cold, damp earth above thy bosom pressed, 
And sighs are heaved, and bitter tears are shed, 
That thou art sleeping with the early dead. 

0, thou wert gentle, l^eautiful. and fair, 
And dark the tresses of thy flowing hair ; 
E'en while I think of thee my soul must sigh, 
And bitter tears, unbidden, fill mine eye. 

0, there was weeping round thy silent clay, 
When the pure spirit fled from earth away ; 



EAllLY BUDS. , 39 

Sorrow's dark wings had hovered oft before 
Above thy friends, yet now the cup runs o'er. 

Thou wert the joy, the sunshine, and the bloom, 
The pride and solace of thy happy home ; 
And they have lost, on life's tempestuous sea, 
A brilliant gem of worth, in losing thee. 

Softly thou'st laid life's weary burden down ; 
O, nevermore shall sorrow's withering frown, 
Or care of life, disturb thy quiet breast — 
All strife is o'er, thy spirit is at rest. 

Then sleep, dear loved one, in thy early tomb ; 
The flowers of summer on thy grave will bloom, 
T4ie lonely night wind o'er thy bed shall sigh, 
While thy young soul rests far above the sky. 



§mutj aiiir ffilDrtl]. 



" Beauty consists not in the sparlsling eye, 
Tlie damask cheek and lip, or forehead high ; 
Not in the graceful form, or glistening hair. 
Or melody of voice — O, no 1 not there." 

Miss H. J. Woodmas. 



f\ WORSHIPPED beauty, many throng 
^^ Around thy glorious throne, 
And bards have sung thy praises long, 
In an immortal tone. 

Thy velvet cheek, unstained by care, 

Thy dark and flashing eye, 
The waving tresses of thy hair. 

Thy forehead pure and high, — 

All these are still the poet's themes, 
Now, as in ages past ; 



EARLY BUDS. 41 

Yet beaut}' fades as dies a dream ; . 
Its triumph may not last. 

And it is only when thine eye 

Beams with religious light, 
And wears thy Maker's impress high. 

That thou art truly bright. 

But modest, unassuming worth ! 

Thou seemest so divine, 
My humble heart its incense meek 

Would lay upon thy shrine. 

Thou lur'st no vain and idle crowd ; 

Thy worshippers are few ; 
Yet every heart, before thee bowed. 

Is constant, tried, and true. 

Yea, worth, I'll bind the laurel wreath 

Above thy gentle brow ; 
For holy is the light that sheds 

Its halo o'er thee now. 

4* 



42 EARLY BUDS. 

Though thy reward may not be here, 
In life's dull precincts, given, 

Press on with firm, undoubting faith - 
Thy crown awaits in heaven. 



®fee (&ii^lt 



" Bold eagle — gazer on the sun ! 
Child of the upper air." 

Gkace Greenwood. 



f\ PROUD, bright bird of the fetterless wing ! 
^^ I sweep my lyre, but I find no string 
That can give back numbers e'en wild and free, 
A fitting guerdon for one like thee I 

Thy home, proud wanderer ! — where is thy home ? 
'Mid the frowning rocks of the forest's gloom ? 
Where the cataracts leap in eternal roar. 
And the mad waves dash on the rock-bound shore ? 

'Mid crags, and mountains, and glaciers cold. 
Thou wert reared and fed since the times of old, 



4-4 EARLY BUDS. 

Where the thunders roar through their caverns deep, 
And the whirlwinds rush, and the tempests sweep. 

Thou hast been my country's emblem long ; 
She has shrined thy name in immortal song ; 
And wherever is planted her standard high, 
Thy name is blent with the battle cry. 

On the folds of our banner, defying fear, 
Thy sweeping pinions are imaged clear. 
As chainless and tameless, as wild and free, 
As the spirit that led us to liberty. 

Be our emblem for aye, bird of glorious form ! 

And our watchword forever, through sunshine and storm, 

And fetterless still, as our own mountain wind. 

Be the chain of the tyrant all-powerless to bind ! 



iwixmtt 0f tixe falc, 

"nATHER ! she, tlie loved one, standetli 
-*- At the entrance of the vale ; 
Dews of death are dampening round her, 
And her brow is snowy pale. 

Looking down the lonely valley 
At the darkling shadow's play, 

Trembling faith is doubting, shrinking 
From the terrors of the way. 

Turns she now with longing to us, 
And her eyes, large, dark, and meek, 

With their earnest, thrilling glances, 
Seem imploringly to speak. 



46 EARLY BUD.S. 

Dear one, dear one, earth's affection 
Now to shield thee hath no power ; 

Only can we wait with weeping 
Till is past the anguish hour. 

In the valley and the shadow. 
Where dark willows sadly weep. 

Father ! father ! it is winter — 
See the tempests wildly sweep. 

Chilling snows of death are falling, 
Drifting, drifting o'er her way ; 

Deeper grow the awful shadows — 
Savior ! Savior ! be her stay ! 

Clouds and darkness now obscure her ; 

She is hidden from our sight — 
Father ! through the wintry valley. 

Bear her to the land of light. 



®I]e %\\mk\: Bim\i 



' Deep, flery clouds o'erspread the sky ; 

Dread stillness rcigus in air; 
There is not e'en a breeze on high, 
The gossamer to bear." 

Mrs. Hemaxs 



HUSHED is the zephyr's -whispering breath, 
Still as the gathering shades of death, 
And, brooding over earthly things, 
Destruction spreads her dismal wings. 

Then lightnings flash, and thunders roll, 
And shake the earth from pole to pole, 
And blazing meteors seem to fly 
Along the fierce, terrific sky. 

The wind comes on in hollow wail, 
The tall trees bend beneath the gale, 



48 EAELY BXJDS. 

The sun withholds his dazzling light, 
Encompassed with the gloom of night. 

Awe sits in every heart and eye, 
As peal on peal goes hurrying by ; 
The muttering waves along the shore 
Are echoing back the hollow roar. 

0, in the thunder's crashing sound 
We hear thy voice, my God, resound, 
And in the lightning's flashing grace 
Behold the brightness of thy face. 

These are the wonders of thy law ; 
Father ! they fill our hearts with awe ; 
Creator and Redeemer ! we, 
Adoring, bend the suppliant knee. 

For thou canst murmur, " Peace, be still ! " 
And winds and waves bow to thy will. 
Calm rests upon the raging main, 
And sunshine lights the world again, 
And brightly beams o'er hill and plain. 



mj Pttra. 



' It was new life — the earth, the sky 

Seemed to grow fairer for thy sake i 
But this is gone, O destiny I 
My )ieart is withered— let it break.' 



T SEEK thy side again, mother I 

-*- 0, we were long apart, 

And the shadows of dark, weary years 

Have fallen on my heart. 
There is no sunshine on my brow, 

No summer in my soul ; 
0, would that I could rouse my pride, 

To spurn love's wild control ! 

But it cannot, cannot be, mother ! 
For my heart has e'en been riven. 



50 EARLY BUDS. 

All throbbing, bleeding, from my breast, 

And to another given. 
And, 0, he spurns the priceless boon ; 
^ The rich, exhanstless mine 
Has lavished all its hidden wealth 

Upon a faithless shrine. 

He came and sought my love, mother ! 

He wooed me every hour, 
From the morning beam till the dew of night 

Was trembling on the flower. 
And when girlish fondness even deemed 

That his faith was fully proved, 
I whispered low, with a faltering voice, 

How wildly my spirit loved. 

Bliss were not more complete, mother ! 

Were I seated near the throne — 
The worshipped was the worshipper, 

The idol was my own. 
The past was a dream of pure delight. 

The present was bliss to me ; 



EARLY BUDS. 51 

And, 0, the waves of my future life 
Seemed thrilling with ecstasy. 

But a change came o'er his brow, mother ! . 

A look of haughty scorn. 
Instead of the gentle and loving smile 

That his features had ever worn ; 
And, one bright evening, he calmly said, 

Though his accents crushed my heart. 
That kindred souls we could never be — 

We had better forever part. 

I could gaze on the face of death, mother ! 

With a calm and tearless look ; 
But the steel-like tones of that cold farewell, 

0, how could my spirit brook ? 
And this was the meed of my constant love, 

My unswerving and fervent faith — 
The idolized doomed his worshipper 

To a daily-dying death. 

O, I come to thee again, mother ! 
For my soul would e'en find rest, 



52 EARLY BUDS. 

And pour out all its bitter griefs 

Upon thy gentle breast. 
As the weary wing of the wounded bird 

Cleaves homeward through the sky, 
Thus, mother dear I I come to thee, 

But only come to die. 



$ §ixQt fax mg little <Siricr, 



" The beautiful is vanished, and returns not." 

SCUILLKR. 



TT7E have laid thee down in the quiet earth, 

* ^ Bright gem of beauty and priceless worth I 
0, bitter trial, to watch the breath 
Grow cold on thy lips at the touch of death ! 

Thy hands were clasped o'er thy spotless breast, 

A snowdrop pure to thy bosom pressed ; 

God, how lovely that marble brow, 

That is crowned with glory and sunlight now ! 

There was woe on earth, there was joy in heaven, 
When the silver cord of thy life was riven ; 

6* «3 



54 EAKLY BUDS. 

The wail of sorrow swept o'er thy bed, 
That our darling slept with the early dead. 

But the glad rejoicing swelled loud and high 
O'er the golden plains of the far-off sky, 
That another spirit, pure, blest, and bright, 
Had plumed its wings in the heavenward flight. 

0, we know 'tis sunshine and glory there — 
Sweet anthems float on the balmy air, 
And the river of life flows calmly on 
By the side of our Father's shining throne. 

Yet, 0, I fear, if the power were given. 

Love would lure thy soul from its own bright heaven ; 

For when thou left us, the halls of home 

Grew dark with the shadows of death-like gloom. 

And it may not hide thee, the pall of night. 
Or shut thee out from our yearning sight ; 
For a shrouded form, and a pale, chill brow, 
Still blend with the visions of midnight now. 



EAliLY BUDS. 55 

sister ! 'tis well that thou canst not know 
Our souls' deep anguish, our bitter woe ; 
For methinks, could the sound of our mourning rise, 
It would cloud thy bliss in the fadeless skies. 



re Ma 0f Mtit 



■ O, dark is the gloom o'er my yoiing spirit stealing." 

Mes. Welby. 



MOURNING, mourning, mourning ! 
The deep-toned voice of woe 
Is stealing o'er my spirit now 
With strange, mysterious flow. 

Mourning, mourning, mourning ! 

The night is dark and wild ; 
God ! what fearful feelings 

Come stealing o'er thy child ! 

A weight is on my spirit 
That I cannot bid depart ; 



EARLY BUDS. 57 

0, cease thy painful tlirobbings, 
My wild, distracted heart I 

What strange, what fearful wailing 

Is on the rushing blast ? 
Deep toned, death-like, and solemn. 

It wildly hurries past. 

Methinks 'tis mourning, mourning, 

O'er this dark world below, 
For the deep and fiery trials 

Its children undergo. 

sin-worn earth I what wert thou. 

If to us were not given. 
Though dark and lonely be our lot, 

The blessed hope of heaven ? 



" A lamp is lit in woman's eye, 
That souls, else lost on earth, remember angels by." 

Willis. 



TTTHAT are her rights, and what her sphere ? 

' ' And what doth woman most beseem ? 
Reason and nature both decide 
This hackneyed, controverted theme. 

Is it to stand in public halls, 

"With brazen and unblushing face, 
Proclaiming there the law's decrees ? — 

How could this be a woman's place ? 

Nay, modesty and dignity, — 

And, woman, listen, ponder, pause, — 



EARLY BUDS. 59 

Why, Nature's very soul rebels — 
'Tis trespassing her sacred laws. 

This will not elevate thy thoughts 

To purer aim, or higher place ; 
Be gentle, steadfast, mild, thougli firm, 

And ye are not a trampled race. 

Thou hast thy mission to this eartli, 
As mother, sister, friend, and wife ; 

O, hallowed is the tie that binds 
Two hearts, for weal or woe, through life. 

'Tis thine to know a mother's joy ; 

And to thyself the task is given 
To watch the softly-opening flower, 

And point the way to God and heaven. 

And thine to bathe the sufferer's brow ; 

Thy gentle voice dispels the gloom, 
And whispers sweet, in accents low, 

Of love and peace beyond the tomb. 



GO EARLY BUDB 

Yea, hope far o'er death^s sullen wave 
In glory's pure and cloudless air, 

Where thou thyself shalt perfect be ; 
A woman here — an angel there. 

Then act thy part, and generous hearts 
Will hail thee as a form of light ; 

And homage, offered at thy shrine, 

Will deck thy brow with laurels bright 

Before high Heaven, these are my views ; 

Although my heart is proud and free, 
No other guerdon would it ask — 

God grant that I such woman be ! 



Wi\m I am ^mt 



'O, sing to me, sing when I am gone." 

WOKDS OF A DYINa FRIEND. 



OWHEN my eyes grow dim in death's eclipse, 
? When sound and song have died upon my lips, 
When with soft fingers ye shall twine my hair, 
And lay it gently o'er the pillow there ; — 

When in its last robe ye array my form, 
And clasp my cold hands in your own so warm, 
And fold them softly o'er the pulseless heart, 
Where life lies hushed, no fitful throbbings start ; — 

Then gaze ye long, 0, fondly, kindly gaze 

On the cold brow, through which no lifeblood strays ; 

6 61 



62 EARLY BUDS. 

0, earnestly — that ye may ne'er forget — 

Mark the still features which death's kiss have met. 

Lay me not in my coffin till the last ; 

For I would look as if sweet Slumber cast 

Her pinions o'er me with such gentle sweep, 

That e'en my name, breathed low, would break the sleep. 

And leave me not within the darkened gloom 

Of a death-hushed and sadly-silent room, 

» 
But ope the shutters, let the sunrays stream, 

And gild my forehead with their golden gleam. 

Lingering around me, watch with patient eye, 
Though all unheeding your dear tones I lie : 
'Tis love's last office ; long ye may not stay 
Waiting and watching o'er my shrouded clay. 

And let sweet anthems, swelling, rise to God ; 
Methinks my soul will hover o'er its clod, 
To hear your blended voices chant the words 
I loved so well ere broke my heart's frail cords. 



EAllLY liUDtS. 63 

And when at last the funeral hour has come, 
O, do not sorrow with wild, hopeless gloom ; 
But let tlie solemn ritual be said — 
Then kiss my brow, and bear mo to the dead. 

And there in calmness, and with holy trust, 
Commit your silent sleeper to the dust. 
0, softly lay the faded form to rest, 
And gently heap the turf o'er my still breast. 

Then seek your homes ; and though within them be 
Full many things to waken thoughts of me, — 
Our dear old haunts, where every tree and flower, 
Hitherto silent, speaks in that sad houi', — 

Yet turn not to the grave with yearnings deep ; 
'Tis but the dust, the dust that is asleep. 
0, there's a brilliant lamp to light the gloom — 
Even our Savior slumbered in the tomb ! 

But 0, remember how my restless soul 
Would fain have burst its shackles of conti-oi ; 



64 EAllLY BUDS. 

And how, while prisoned here, it longed to fly, 
Tlirough the bright ether, to the throne on high. 

And think of me as one that's safely passed 
The earth's chill tempest, and the wintry blast ; 
And that 'midst deathless glory I await, 
And watch your coming, at the eternal gate. 



®^t Stos 0.f 



rriHE stars, the quiet stars of night, 
-*- How calmly do they shine ! 
Enkindling, by their peaceful light, 
Hope in this heart of mine. 

As glittering round their sweet, pale queen, 

Her faithful subjects, they 
Are trembling, watching, ever seen 

As waiting to obey. 

I gaze, and gaze, till lost in thought, 
And wondering which bright star 

Euleth my destiny, so fraught 
With the wild waves of care : 



66 EARLY BUDS. 

For life is not what it hath been 
Ere sorrow had control ; 

Now, few the stars reflected in 
The fountain of my soul. 

Yet 0, perhaps from my young breast 
The cloud will pass away ; 

And there again the stars may rest — 
The beaming sunshine stay. 

O, lamps of heaven ! as gazing now, 
There strangely comes a doubt : 

So long has shone your steady glow, 
Can the bright flash die out ? 

Though ages still are numbered o'er 

As generations fly. 
Ye glitter, fadeless as before. 

Within the midnight sky. 

Ye seem eternal as the Power 
That spake in wisdom's might, 



EARLY BUDS. 67 

When forth from chaos, in that hour, 
Arose creation's light. 

Yet these are idle thoughts, and vain, 

For change must come o'er all : 
The stars shall fade, the moon shall wane, 

The sun wax dim and fall. 

And e'en old rock-bound earth must burn. 

When dawns the latter day ; 
Nought but the word of God stands firm — 

All else must pass away. 



f\ SPRING has come with her joyous charm, 
^-^9 And the hearts of many beat high and warm 
For pleasure beckons, and seems to say, 
That life is before us, all glad and gay. 

The sky above us is blue and bright, 
And clouds of glory and golden light 
Are wandering over, so free and fair, 
That the soaring spirit would fain be there. 

The mild-eyed daisy is softly seen 
To peep from her bed on the turfy green ; 
And the violet, lovely and brightly blue, 
Unveils her bosom to catch the dew. 



EARLY BUDS. 69 

Glad strains of music are on the breeze, 
And the leaflets burst on the waving trees, 
And the streamlet, laving the wild flower pale, 
Unfettered flows through its native vale. 

The zephyr is soft as a mother's sigh 
When she sings her evening lullaby ; 
No more we hear the wild storm rush past, 
Or the raging din of the howling blast. 

Yes, the pattering rain, and the bursting leaves, 
And the swallow's twitter along the eaves, 
And the springing grass, and the floweret's bloom — 
All, all betoken that spring has come. 

Yet youth will fade, and the flowers will die. 
And tempests darken the brilliant sky. 
And earth-born mortals must yield their breath, 
And lie chilled in the winter and snow of death. 

Yea, the grave will close o'er each earthly form, 
And the breath of spring, and her breezes warm, 



70 EAELY BUBS. 

May never wake tliem ; for calm theyll sleep, 
An.d the stars of midnight their vigils keep. 

Yet the happy soul, on unfettered wings, 
Will soar away from life's sordid things. 
From sorrow, and sadness, and care, and gloom, 
Where youth and spring time immortal bloom. 



Ju*e!l, 



Aflfection's wrecliB and hope's despkiiv 

Time's hnrrjing torrents swell ; 
And o'er the wave is mnrmnred there 

One changeless word— * Farewell.' * 

Ignatius L. Donnellt. 



mHERE'S angnish in that word, Farewell ! 
-^ There's Borrow's deep intensity — 
The severing of the witching spell 
That bound my spirit unto thee. 



Yet go ; nor vainly linger still, 
Thy constancy and faith to prove ; 

My heart rebels against my will — 
Unworthy thou of such a love. 



72 EAELY BUDS. 

I worshipped thee ; but 0, methoiight 

That truth's bright seal was on thy bro \v ; 

I find thy soul with treachery fraught, 
And triumph o'er such weakness now. 



fines. 



" O, 'tis the work of many a weary day, 

To school to soi'ter thoughts the o'ert asked heart; 
To teach the stricken soul to bend and pray, 
And bear in silence its allotted part." 

Mks. M. T. W. Chandler. 



II TY angel sister, can it be 
J-TJ- ^\^2it thou wilt never come 
To fill again thy vacant place 
Within our lonely home ? 

For light, and life, and sunny joy, 
And pleasure, gay and free, — 

E'en grandeur from the summer skies 
Has fled, my love, with thee. 

0, many, many were the tears, 
The anguish-tears, that fell 



74 EARLY BUDS. 

Above the early, lowly grave 
Of one we loved so well. 

And still we'll mourn thee in our hearts ; 

Thine image dear will stay, 
Although thy spirit and thy form 

May long have passed away. 

0, still in dreams thou com'st to earth, 
To dwell here as of yore ; 

I fold thee to my heart, and deem 
That all my grief is o'er. 

But morning light dispels the joy, 
The transient blisSj that shone 

Across my path, and bitterly 
I feel that thou art gone. 

And when, to charm the gloom away, 

I take my mournful lute. 
It only echoes thy dear name — 

To other themes 'tis mute. 



EA.KLY EUDS. 75 

0, how I feared a cloud would rise 

Above our sunny home ! 
And, shedding now its chilling dews, 

I feel that cloud has come. 

sister ! calm this tempest gloom. 

This yearning, intense thrill ; 
For surely, in its radiant home, 

Thy spirit loves us still. 



%\t g0wng pinister. 



' The humid beams, that 'neath thine eyelids steal, 
Can softly teach the coldest heart to feel ; 
For Heaven, that gives to thee each mental grace. 
Hath stamped the angel on thy sweet young face." 

Mes. Welet. 



rpHOU wert a bearer of thy Father's cross, 
-L A servant in the vineyard of thy Lord, 
While early youth was yet upon thy brow ; 
For scarcely eighteen years had passed above 
Thy gentle form, ere thou didst turn away 
From all the glittering pageantry of life, 
With deep and holy trust in the sweet words 
Of Him who said. All they that early seek 
Shall surely find. 

And thou didst find ; for verily I know, 
If ever peace from Heaven rested down 



EARLY BUDS. 77 

Upon the brow of mortal, ^twas on thine. 
0, when I saw thee standing in the midst 
Of a hushed crowd, speaking thy Father's truth 
In gentle, yet in bold and fluent words. 
My heart beat high, as trustingly I thought, 
What soul could harbor e'en a passing doubt 
Of sacred truths, by inspiration taught, 
'Gainst evidence like this ? A stripling young, 
Strong in the strength the heavenly Master gives, 
Forsaking all the tinselled show of earth, 
Unheeding giddy Pleasure's siren voice. 
And turning, in thine humble, childlike faith, 
A meek ambassador of holy things. 
0, beautiful our pure religion seemed, 
As taught by thee 1 — so like an angel's 
Was thy low, sweet tone. 

Thy text was this, — and 'twas a fitting theme : — 
" The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, 
And the communion of the Holy Ghost, 
Be with you all." 0, how that sentence thrilled 
Through every heart that heard and saw thee then ! 
How often, in my fancy, I can hear 
7* 



78 EARLY BUDS. 

Thy melting voice say, Yes, my brothers, yes, 

Yes, my dear sisters, even the grace of God, 

Though through dark waters called, will ever be 

Sufficient to sustain thy trembling steps. 

And then what look of holy triumph shone 

O'er thy bright face, and lit thy lightning eye 

With more than earthly splendor ! 

Tis scarcely possible that e'er again 

I may behold thee on the shores of time ; 

Yet I could not forget thee if I would. 

And 0, my spirit breathes the fervent prayer. 

That when the Master of the vineyard comes, 

Rewarding thee for labors of thy love, 

That the pure crown he giveth thee may shine 

As brightness of the firmament for aye. 



mm- 



Fades from the west the farewell light 
Flung backward by the setting sun ; 

And silence deepens, as the night 
Steals with its solemn shadows on." 

W. H. BlTKLEIGH. 



THE moonbeams slumber on the hill, 
Serenely bright and calmly still ; 
The breezes whisper through the grove, 
Low as the winning tones of love. 

And night's blue arch, with starry gems, 

Like myriad glittering diadems, 

Is spangled over thickly bright, 

As some vast sea, with waves of light. 

The river bears, with ceaseless song, 
The moonbeams on her breast along ; 



80 EARLY BUDS. 

The night bird sings her lonely strain, 
Till morn shall shed her light again. 

With silent tread o'er all the earth 
The spirit of the night goes forth ; 
And 'neath the boughs of forest tree 
The fairies hold their revelry. 

The mother lulls to gentle rest 
The sinless babe upon her breast ; 
tranquil sleep of childhood's day, 
Would that thy dreams might ever stay ! 

Father ! at this silent hour 
Our hearts adore thy wondrous power, 
Thy wisdom vast, that formed and blessed 
The day for toil, the night for rest. 

0, when the night of death shall close 
This scene of turmoil, strife, and woes, 
From life's dark crucible set free. 
Lord, may our spirits soar to thee ! 



EAKLY BUDS. 81 

Aud evermore shall swell the song, 
Aud float on glory's waves along, 
And rise from myriad minstrel strings — 
Extol th' eternal King of kings. 



%\t iuiiig (iSirl 



' A fair young face — yet mournful in its youth ■ 
Brooding above sad thouglits." 



THE spring is coming, 
With its birds and flowers ; 
The bees are humming 

'Mid the budding bowers ; 
The trees are bursting 

Into brightest bloom ; 
And I am sinking 
To the dreary tomb. 
^ How sad to die ! 

The cool, sweet zephyrs 
Float around me now, 

Laden with odor 
From yon mountain's brow ; 



EARLY BUDS. g)} 

The brooks are flowing 

In their glee and mirth ; 
And I am drooping 

From the evening hearth. 
, 0, must I die ? 

0, could I but 

A little longer live, 
My youthful life 

How freely would I give ! 
And when all nature's 

Sinking to decay, 
Then 0, how calmly 

Would Tpass away. 

Serene and still ! 

For, ere I wander 

From this earthly shore, 
I fain would see 

The summer sky once more ; 
I fain would ramble 

Where so oft I've strayed, 



84 EARLY BUDS. 

And sit me down 
Beneath the spreading shade 
Of woodland bowers. 

Ye blissful moments, 

That so quickly flew! 
Ye hours, that sped 

Fleet as the morning dew ! 
How can ye leave me? 

Linger yet a while, 
To cheer my spirit 

With your dawning smile ! — 
0, stay, bright hours ! 

But, thou wilful. 

Stubborn heart ! be still, 
And meekly bow 

To thy Creator's will ; 
For when I raise 

My weary glance above, 
I there behold 

A God of gracious love — 
A Father kind ! 



EARLY BUDS. 85 

Who saitli unto me, 



Child of early woe, 
Forsake the world, 

Though bright it seems below ; 
I have for thee 

A fairer, sunnier home, 
Where clouds and tempests 

Nevermore may come — 
A land of rest ! 

Yea, I will leave 

This world, though passing bright. 
On angel's wings, 

To reach that home of light. 
All fetterless, 

My ransomed soul shall fly 
Where swells the anthem 

Of the blest on high 

In ceaseless flow. 

And there, while sweeps 
The tide of time along, 

8 



86 EARLY BUDS. 

T shall be happy 

With that blissful throng. 
Call ye this death — 

This severing from strife? 
Nay, 'tis the passport 

To eternal life, 

In heaven's day. 



%\t 0ft ®* %xtt 

'rpiS a goodly oak, and it stands in pride 
-L A peaceful and murmuring stream beside, 
Where the green grass springs, and the blue flags bloom, 
On a sloping hill, by my childhood's home. 
I have always loved it ; when but a child, 
And my merry laughter rang clear and wild. 
On the bright spring mornings I'd watch to see 
The green buds burst on my old oak tree. 

To me it looked lofty, more grand and fair 
Than its brother oaks that were towering there ; 
'Twas a wayward thought of my childish will. 
Yet memory, fond memory, clings round it still. 



I EARLY BUDS. 

They may talk of the pahii trees that proudly rise 
'Neath the far-off beams of the eastern skies. 
But they never could look so fair to me 
As the dark-green leaves of my old oak tree. 

My young companions — I see them now, 
Each blooming cheek and each laughing brow — 
With me have roamed through the forest fair, 
To pluck the flowers that were blooming there ; 
And when we were weary, and tired of play, 
And the sinking sun warned us not to stay. 
We would hie away where we loved to be, 
'Neath the peaceful shade of the old oak tree. 

And when from its branches hung drooping low 
The good rope swing on the stout old bough, 
O, then we were happy ; for shade of care 
Had never darkened a spirit there. 
We laughed and sung, and the time flew by 
Swift as lightning's flash through the angry sky ; 
And the shout of gladness rose wild and free 
From the happy hearts 'neath the old oak tree. 



EARLY BUDIS. 89 

And often, at evening, I'd silently go 

To hear tlie breeze moan through its branches low ; 

Its cadence fell on my youthful ear 

In a soft, sad strain that I loved to hear. 

And 0, if my footsteps should ever stray 

From the scenes I have loved in my life's young day, 

Still memory, the dreamer, will backward flee 

To my childhood's home and the old oak tree. 

O, those were my moments of purest joy ; 

For I deemed that my pleasure could never cloy, 

And life was a stream, to my youtliful soul, 

Where the waves of gladness unceasing roll. 

Though still I am young, still unfettered and glad, 

There are sometimes hours when my soul is sad ; 

But 0, 'tis as daring, as wild and free, 

As it was when I played 'neath the old oak tree. 

And when life and its troubles with me are o'er, 
When its pains and sorrows are felt no more, 
O friends of my spirit ! mourn not for me, 
But lay me to rest 'neath the old oak tree. 

8* 



90 EAKLY BUDS. 

For I know it will stand when my liead is low, 
When the winds of winter above me blow ; 
And plaintive and sad will my requiem be — 
The murmuring wind through the old oak tree. 



I tote t\tt 



' Yea, all conspires this maxim's truth to prove — 
Life is not where we live, but where we love." 

Caldee Campbell. 



I LOVE thee ! 0, wildly I'll pray for thee ever, 
Until the last link of my fond heart is riven ; 
And when death stills its beatings across the dark river 
I'll wait for thee, dear one, in yonder bright heaven. 

I know that my spirit has loved thee too deeply, 
And with the remembrance my feelings are awed ; 

For we sin when we bow us in blind adoration, 
Or form any idol to worship save God. 

Yet greatly I fear that my heart idolizes 

The love that to me in fond trust has been given ; 



92 EARLY BUDS. 

For when I would pray, then thine image arises 
To shut out the thoughts of my Savior and heaven. 

For thou art the life and the soul of my being, 
The centre from which every pleasure must flow ; 

And without thy dear form and thy bright image seeing, 
The world to my heart were a desert of woe. 



lift 



" A weary lot, in mercy given, 
To fit the chastened soul for lieaven." 

J. G. WniTTlKK. 



THE waves of life ! the waves of life ! 
How deeply fraught with woe and strife 
While in the shade of earthly years, 
Our only guerdon sorrow's tears. 

Our idolized, our early friends, — 
What agony the thought attends ! — 
Those whom our spirits cherished most, 
Are soonest stricken, soonest lost. 

0, as we mark the faded light 

On their pure foreheads chill and white. 



94 EARLY BUDS. 

Bursts the wild cry, God ! from woe 
How long till I shall also go ? 

Savior I by that fearful hour 

When anguish o'er thy heart had power, 

As in the lonely garden there 

Thy stricken spirit breathed its prayer, — 

" Father ! if it be thy will, 
Let this cup pass ; yet even still 
That thou be glorified in me, 

1 drink it since 'tis held by thee ;" — 

And by the cross, the thorny wreath, 
And by thy triumph over death. 
Our risen Savior ! teach us how 
Like thee to pray, like thee to bow. 

Thy spirit and thy strength impart : 
And when the life throbs leave the heart, 
Then bear us to the glory shore. 
And life with thee for evermore. 



/^ FOR a pen to paint the scene ! 

^^ The trees are clothed in living green ; 

While far above, in pomp unrolled, 

Are glorious clouds of burnished gold. 

0, how refreshing to the eye 

Those deep, dark woods — that azure sky ! 

With bliss my spirit doth expand 

A glimpse of some far lovelier land. 



"l /TARY, dear, I love thee ; 
-^'-'- Language scarce may serve to tell ; 
Must our hearts be severed ? 
Must I say farewell ? 

Mary, dear, my spirit found 
An answering chord in thine, 

That responded warmly 
To this heart of mine. 

Must kindred souls be parted ? 

Fondest links be rent in twain ? 
Shall I ne'er behold thee, 

Mary, here again ? 



EARLY BUDS. 97 

But what is earth ? A fitful flash, 

A sad though cherished spell. 
We will meet in heaven : 

Mary, dear, farewell. 
9 



31 fribntc to tijt W^mmj of Irs. f . W. 



' The fragrance of the leaf is gone ; 

The beauty of tlie flower is riven : 
The birds to other climes have iio\m ; 
And there's an angel more in heaven.' 



r\ CALMLY as the brilliant sun 
^-^? Fades in the glowing west. 
So sweetly did thy spirit pass 
To its eternal rest. 

I saw thy pale, angelic face 

Methinks I see it now — 
When dark and damp the dews of death 

Were resting on thy brow. 

A light from glory, pure and bright, 
Was beaming in thine eye, 



EAliLY BUDS. 99 

While blessed angels waited round, 
To waft thy soul on high. 

Methought, as earthly sounds grew faint, 

Thy raptured soul could hear 
The song of ransomed seraphims 

Come stealing o'er thine ear. 

I saw thee when the strife was o'er, 
When thou hadst kissed the rod ; - 

And, by thy calm and peaceful smile, 
I knew thou wert with God. 

Fond ties hadst thou to bind thy heart 

To this dark world of gloom — 
Thy husband, and thy little ones, 

Thy fair and pleasant home. 

The evening hearth will lonely be ; 

0, it was ever bright 
When thy young face was beaming there 

With life, and hope, and light. 



100 EARLY BUDS. 

And long thy mother's heart will mourn 
For thee, her joy and pride — 

The tender, fair, and beauteous flower 
That gret^ up by her side. 

Her bosom ever was thy home. 

Her word thy guide through life, 
Till other arms encircled thee, 
' And thou wert called a wife. 

Yet there's a land, a blissful land, 
All free from pain and care — 

The city of our Father, God ; 
The loved may meet thee there. 

0, many a wintry snow shall fall 

Above thy youthful head. 
And still thou wilt remembered be, 

As some bright angel fled. 



It g 



A GAIN ye're springing, daffodils ! 
■^-^ Bright golden-colored flowers ; 
The first green thing that braves the storm 
Of winter's parting hours. 

And therefore thou art prized the more, 

Thou gentle plant, by me ; 
And dearly have I always loved 

Thy opening buds to see. 

O, when a joyous little child, 

Light as the bird on wing, 
9* 101 



102 EARLY BUDS. 

I'd search amid the fallen leaves 
For earliest flowers of spring. 

And thou wert always sure to be 

The very first 1 found ; 
Thy buds appearing with the leaves 

Above the frozen ground. 

Then — little, wild enthusiast — 

I'd cry in merry shout, 
Mother, it's spring, — I know it is, — 

The daffodils peep out. 

0, there was not a flower that bloomed, 

Or decked the sunny lea, 
So closely watched for, and, anon, 

Hailed with such joy by me. 

And though I welcome thee no more 
With such a childish thrill 

Of exultation, yet I love 
Thy golden petals still. 



EARLY BUDS. 103 

The bounding heart of childhood's hours 

May not return again ; 
But, modest floweret, thy pure sheen 

Is sunny hued as then. 



I toto tp mg littoi^r libetl]. 



" For I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand 
at the latter day upon the earth." 



I KNOW thou livest, Lord of lords ! 
To intercede my part ; 
Father ! how those blessed words 
Thrill through my trembling heart ! 

0, let this hope be with me still, 
When borne on pleasure's stream, 

Lest I should cease to feel its thrill, 
When gladness proves a dream. 

And 0, when shades of sorrow's night 
Shall darkly round me close, 



EARLY BUDS. 105 

May it be like a beacon light 
To lead me to repose. 

And, Father, in the anguish-hour, 

AVhen life shall fade and fail, 
0, whisper it with mighty power 

At entrance of the vale. 

Yea, be thou strong, my trembling heart, 

Strong in the faith He gives ; 
Let these sweet words deep strength impart — 

Thy own Redeemer lives. 

He liveth, and shall summon forth. 

In the great latter day, 
The sleeping nations of the earth 

From their cold beds of clay. 

And thou shalt see the glorious King, 

And, praising him, adore 
The love that died, yet, conquering, 

Liveth forever more. 



%\t ^m\l 



'Ay, for the soul is better than its frame. 
The spirit than its temple." 

Willis. 



TTTHAT is the soul ? Great God, alone 

* ' To thee, and only thee, 'tis known 
Why things of earth, though passing fair, 
Forever fail to bind it here. 

'Tis chainless as the mountain breeze, 
That, whispering, murmurs through the t]'ees ; 
'Tis sportive as the moonlit wave, 
Then gloomy as the sombre grave. 



'Tis soaring as the eagle's wings. 
Disclaiming earth and earthly things 



EARLY BUDS. 107 

Tis peaceful as the sleep of death, 
Then wild as tempest's hurrying breath. 

And oft it turns away from life, 
Weary and worn with care and strife. 
And longs to cast the chains away 
That bind it down to suffering clay. 

0, thou hast formed this earthly sod, 
And all things lovely, my God ! 
The soul, transcendently divine, 
Is the most perfect work of thine. 

For beauty, wealth, and fame must fade, 
Kingdoms and crowns in dust be laid ; 
And dark and gloomy over all 
The augel Death will cast his pall. 

Ask Where's the soul, and worlds reply, 
Immortal, and can never die ; 
In bliss or woe, its time will be 
Unending as eternity. 



%ln Sitcrto. 

rpHE snow, the bright snow has unfurled 
-■- Its wings of feathery light, 
And gayly clad a sleeping world 
In robes of spotless white. 

And, without leave or license e'en. — 

In truth, I deem 'twas bold, — 
It came and cast its silver sheen 

Upon the oak trees old, — 

And lightly decked our garden beds 

With its mysterious skill, 
While shrub and peach tree bowed their heads, 

Submissive to its will. 



EARLY BUDS. 109 

And slyly, too, it came at night, 

When all ^to rest had gone, 
And, in the morning, pearldrops bright 

Were gleaming in the sun. 

Young footsteps break earth's pure, fresh shroud, 

Glad voices meet my ear, 
And ring, in merry accents loud, 

The snow, the snow is here ! 

E'en as I contemplate their mirth, 

With tears my heart o'er flows 
For one who passed away from earth 

Before she knew its woes. 

She died as die the summer flowers ; 

So gently passed her breath, 
We scarce knew when that lamb of ours 

Crossed the cold wave of death. 

0, were she here, her laughter deep 
Would ring above the rest ; 

10 



EARLY BUDS. 

But Jesus called her ; do not weep — 
Our Father knoweth best. - 

But that sweet face, those dove-like eyes, 
That brow more pure than snow, — 

All, all her looks on memory rise, 
And I must weep e'en now. 

The snowflakes fresh arc falling fast 

Upon that little mound, 
And the wild wind is wailing past, 

While silence reigns around. 

But she, with pale arms folded o'er 
Her young and sinless breast. 

Doth heed the howling storm no more — 
It cannot break her rest. 

Then let it snow, for, cold in death, 

It cannot harm her now ; 
She triumphs, and we soon shall sleep 

Beside her in the snow. 



TTTEARY, weary, weary, 

' ' I turn from earth away, 
It e'eu hath proved so dreary ; 
Father ! must I stay ? 

The night steals on in sorrow, 
The mists of morning roll, 

Yet bring no sunny morrow 
To my grief-laden soul. 

0, do not seek to cheer me ; 
Let no voice of gladness flow ; 



112 EARLY BUDS. 

For I sit within the shadow 
Of my own absorbing woe. 

How could ye hope to comfort 
With sympathetic words. 

While sorrow round my spirit 
Intwines her chilling cords ? 

Mother Earth ! thy bosom 
Would be a blessed rest ; 

No care, or fear, or sorrow 
Would struggle in my breast. 

For my spirit longeth ever, 
And ever wildly clings, 

Unsatisfied with paltry joys, 
To dreams of purer things. 

In the grave I'd calmly slumber ; 

For there the restless thrill, 
The hopes, and fears, and sympathies 

Forever would be still. 



EAllLY BUDS. 113 

0, weary, weary, weary, 

I turn from earth away. 
It e'en hath proved so dreary ; 

Father I must I stay ? 

10* 



WOULDST pinion the eagle ? 
The lioness bind ? 
Or strive to extinguish 

Fierce flames by the wind ? 

Wouldst limit the ocean ? ^ 

Or number the lights 
That burn in the sky 

Through the midsummer nights ? 

Would ye call back the dead, 
From their sleep in the tomb, 

To ask them of mysteries 
Shrouded in gloom ? — 



EARLY BUDS. . 115 

TlioLigh this is improbable, 

Sooner ye may, 
Than fright or intimidate 

Me to obey. 

For, know ye, my spirit 

Is chainless and free 
As the wing of the eagle, 

The wave of the sea. 

To soft words of kindness 

I'm gentle and meek, 
Yet to harshness and discord 

I fear not to speak. % 

When injustice and meanness 

Arouse my contempt, 
Shall I look on in calmness. 

From anger exempt ? 

No ; as soon soothe the lioness, 
'Keft of her young ; 



116 EARLY BUDS. 

For scorn of my spirit 
Will flow from my tongue. 

I joy in the tempest 
I laugh fear to scorn ; 

For terror, methinks, 
Is of cowardice born. 

Then seek not with harshness 
To govern my soul ; 

For, know ye, it dareth 
To spurn such control. 



i 



|« fife aiti §M mttbimging still 



" I love thee — yes, I feel 

That on the fountain of my heart a seal 

Is set, to keep its waters pure and bright 

For thee." 

Shelley. 



T'M thine alone, forever thine ; 
-*- My spirit seeks no other shrine, 
But cHngs to thee through joy and ill, 
In life and death unchanging still. 

And 0, what rapture to my heart, 
To bear in all thy woes a part, 
And know but thine, no other will, 
In life and death unchanging still ! 

I love thee — 0, how fond and true 
This constant heart has been to vou ! 



118 EARLY BUDS. 

And at thy voice doth wildly thrill, 
111 life and death unchanging still. 

And 0, what bliss, when life is past, 
Calmly to yield our souls at last, 
Our lifeless forms one coffin fill, 
In life and death unchanging still ! 



m ^iiriL) €i\m. 



" Weep not for those whom the vale of the tomb, 
In life's happy morning, hath hid from our eyes, 
E'er sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom, 
Or earth had profaned what was born for the skies." 

Moore. 



/^ THOU hast gone, in youth's bewitching bloom, 
^^? To death's dark stillness and the lonely tomb, 
When sunlight beams were fading in the sky. 
All weary, weary, laid thee down to die. 

Joy hovered round thee with her thrilling tone, 
And brightly o'er thy path her radiance shone ; 
The spring was coming, happiest of the year, 
Yet all earth's pleasures failed to stay thee here. 

O, ne'er again thy winning tones shall come, 
Or tliy sweet smile, dispelling care and gloom : 



120 EARLY BUDS. 

All, all is hushed ; for Death hath claimed thee now, 
And placed his signet on thy marble brow. 

It seemeth hard that youth must know decay, 
And in its glorious spring time pass away, 
When hopes are brightest, and earth's vision seems 
A world of gladness and of glowing dreams. 

Yet life is all a weary, weary day ; 
Dark storms of sorrow ever cloud the way ; 
And thou art happy now — all care is fled, 
And sunbright glory circles thy young head. 

Though lightnings flash, and tempests wildly rave, 
And loud winds howl around thine early grave. 
The arms of Mother Earth are round thee pressed, 
And thou wilt calmly slumber on her breast. 



®|e p&summcr i'igl^t. 

'rpWAS the gloaming, quiet gloaming, 
-*- And in silence all around 
Crept the sombre evening shadows, 
Darkling o'er the moss-robed ground. 

But full soon the stars were beaming 
In their azure homes on high, 

And night's gentle queen held vigils 
From her throne, the vaulted sky. 

'Twas midsummer, bright midsummer ; 
Rich and ripe the harvest lay ; 



122 EARLY BUDS. 

And, on balmy breezes floating, 
Came the scent of new-mown hay. 

We were wandering in the meadows, 

A merry-hearted band, 
And the moonbeams fell like gleamings 

From the far-off Spirit Land. 

0, lovingly they rested 
On each gentle, upraised brow, 

Till they shone like sculptured marble 
In the chastened, holy glow. 

And dreamily the forest, 

On that golden summer night, 

And the rivulet, and meadow, 
Lay bathed in peaceful light. 

0, our young souls seemed floating 
On the waves of pleasure's tide ; 

And through our bosoms revelled 
High dreams of hope and pride. 



EAKLY BUDS. 123 

We may quaff the cup of gladness, 
Mirth may brilliant garlands weave ; 

Yet it may not be forgotten — 
That starbright sumu\er eve. 



Park's frfuni, 

MARY, dear, thou'st wandered 
Back again to thy old home : 
O, the joy, the rapture, 
Thus to see thee come. 

Fond, true-hearted maiden. 

Mild and gentle dark-eyed flower 

Oft thou'st whispered comfort 
In my soul's dark hour. 

For thy noble spirit, 

Mary, dear, do I love thee — 
Virtues richly blended, 

Constant, proud, and free. 



EAKLY BUDS. 125 

Mayst thou, my Mary ! 

Ever be what now thou art — 
Bearing precious blessings 

In thy youthful heart. 

Namesake of the Virgin, 

Mother of our blessed Lord, 
Emulate her virtues, 

Pure in deed and word. 

Mary, mine, if faithful 

To the bright, ascended One, 

Thou shalt meet the Marys 

At the Master's throne. 
11* 



ibM$, 



' They speak of hope to the fainting heart ; 
With a voice of promise they come and part." 

Mks. Hkmans 



HOW beautiful are flowers ! the balmy gale 
Bears their rich odors through the woodland vale ; 
Bright things of earth, they come and pass away 
Without a murmur at their swift decay. 

They know their time to wither, fade, and die, 
Ere gathering tempests cloud the angry sky, 
Gently, as fades the sunbeams in the west, 
Bid life farewell, and sink to dreamless rest. 

True emblems of our shortened life below, 
Where chilling waves of care and sorrow flow ; 



EARLY BUDS. |27 

And all that's bright and beautiful must die. 
A lid we, like them, in earth's cold bosom lie. 

Yet spring will come, with soft and gentle rain, 
To wake the flowerets from their sleep again ; 
And we must slumber in the quiet earth ; 
The change of seasons may not call us forth. 

Spring after spring may come, and pass away ; 
And summer, clothed in rich and bright array ; 
Autumn, with gentle steps and looks serene ; 
And howling winter's dark and fearful mien. 

Yet nought can break the dreamless sleep of death ; 
The breeze may murmur, and the whirlwind's breath 
All fitfully may wail above the tomb, 
And yet for ages we will slumber on. 



®0 tip. 



'■ O, ever when I met thy look, I knew that this would be ; 

I knew, too well, that length of days was not a gift for thee 5 
I saw it in thy kindling cheek, and in thy bearing high ; 

A voice came whispering to my soul, and told me thou must die." 

Mrs. Hemaks. 



f\ I CAN ne'er forget thee : I have tried, 
^^? Yet tried in vain ; forever o'er my heart 
Thine image comes, pure, beautiful as when 
I last beheld thee in thy fading youth. 
0, ever, when I heard thy bounding step, 
And caught the echo of thy merry laugh, 
My soul grew sorrowful, and bitter tears 
Would well up from the fountain of my heart ; 
For when I parted back thy rich, dark hair. 
And gazed on thy pure brow's transparency, — 
Through which the azure veins were plainly seen, 



EARLY BUDS. 129 

My spirit knew and felt that thou must die : 

And if I Adiispered it, then there would come 

A mournful change across thy sunny face, 

And thou wouldst gently strive to reassui-e me, 

And wouldst say that thou wert active, 

Young, and vigorous, and need not die, — 

Although thine own sweet lip 

Quivered with deep emotion at the thought. 

Now thou art far, 0, far away from me ; 

I cannot mark the fading of thy form. 

Or hearken to the music of thy tones. 

And yet 'tis well — I know that it is well ; 

For 0, how could I bear to see thee droop, 

As, day by day, a link from thy life's chain 

Would burst and fall ? — 

Not worn by age, but tarnished by disease. 

In the young spring time of thy joyous life, 

How could I mark thy dark eyes' lustrous light 

Intenser grow, e'en when my spirit knew 

The brilliant flash was kindled for the grave ! 

And it were agony to hear thy voice 

Grow faint, and fainter, as the night of death 



130 EARLY BUDS. 

Steals slowly on, — 

Until, at last, thy whisper low would fail, 
And the dark pall, above thy faded form, 
In silence fall. Yet fix thy faith in GoH ; 
His angels will receive thy parting soul, 
And bear it up to the bright heaven of heavens 
I know they will, for surely Jesus loves 
And pities thee, my precious, drooping one. 



^trtunm Mmte. 



' And, sighing with the winds, I feel. 

While their low pinions murmur by, 
How much their sweeping tones reveal 
Of life and human destiny." 

Willis G. Clabke. 



TTOW mournful is the music 
-■-'- That the autumn zephyr brings I 
Like the last faint notes that tremble 
On the ^olian strings ; — 

Sweet as gentle thoughts that murmur 
Through the spirit's cordage lone ; 

And sad its thrilling cadence 
As the solemn, farewell tone. 

0, my footsteps love to wander 
In lonely forest dell, 



132 EARLY BUDS. 

For the mournful, mournful music 
Wakens a thrilling spell. 

I know not why I am so sad ; 

But 0, 'tis misery 
To waken from a dream of bliss 

To life's reality. 

A little while, in childhood's day, 
Enjoy our fleeting life ; 

Then taste the bitter cup of woe, 
And mingle in the strife ; — 

And struggle on a few short years, 
While pleasure glideth by, 

Eluding e'er our anxious grasp, 
Then lay us down to die. 

And this is all ; and all we need 

Is but a lowly grave ; 
And Earth receives the lifeless form 

That her cold bosom gave. 



EARLY BUDS. 133 

And fitful winds of autumn hurl 

The withered leaflets o'er ; 
And time sweeps on, and sunshine beams 

As gayly as before. 

12 



i0 mg mh iximt 

/^UR love, my gentle-hearted friend, 
^-^ Has not been like the dew, 
That melteth when hot beams descend 
To parch the floweret's hue. 

Our hearts with friendship's fondest ties 
Were twined in earliest youth ; 

E'en childhood's hours were witnesses 
Of fervent vows of truth. 

And, dearest, we have kept those vows, 
Although a wandering cloud, 

A passing shadow tinged with doubt, 
Will purest love enshroud. 



EAKLY BUDS. 135 

Yet 0, it beameth brighter far, 

When from the gentle ray, 
Beneath affection's constant eye, 

The shadow rolls away. 

We ever were the fondest ones 

Amid our girlish band, 
Warm heart to heart responding still, 

Hand closely clasped in hand. 

Our bliss was perfect only when 

Each other shared the thrill, 
And sympathy within each breast 

Flowed pure as mountain rill. 

WeVe stood with weeping side by side 

Where, silent on the bier, 
The blighted bud of promise lay, 

And mingled tear with tear. 

0, thou, I trust, dost cherish me 
As e'en when first we met, 



136 EAKLY BUDS. 

Ere on our brows one shadow fell 
Of sorrow or regret. 

For 0, my heart still throbs to thine, 
As constant, warm, and true. 

As erst when, in glad childhood's glen, 
Glittered the morning dew. 



§mt\ 0f t\t ©tilg (But 



■ How is it that I bear to stand and look upon thee now, 
And that I die not, seeing death on thy pale, glorious brow? " 

Mrs. Hemans. 



SMILES have flown, and hearts are bleeding, 
Long by sorrow sorely tried — 
Hearts, whose dearest earthly treasure 
Hath been stricken by their side. 

Weary weeks of woe and watching, 
Father ! mother ! they were thine ; 

'Midst your anguish, death's dark angel 
Tore the idol from its shrine. 

Father ! God ! he was the only. 
Only one that thou hadst given ; 

12 * i-'^^ 



138 EAKLY BUDS. 

Didst thou leave tlicir hearts thus lonely 
But to draw them up to heaven ? 

Surely thou dost deal in mercy ; 

But our darkened mortal gaze 
Cannot comprehend the purpose 

Shrouding thy mysterious ways. 

Heal the wounds thy hand hath opened, 
Bid the mourners' sorrows cease ; 

Whisper, on the eternal pillow 
Eests their weary one at peace. 



©, €M) b tog 



r\ EARTH is very beautiful — 

^-^? Its groves, and hills, and streams, 

Its dark, rich, waving summer woods, 

Through which bright sunlight gleams ; 
Its mighty rivers sweeping on 

To mingle with the sea, 
Where evermore is rising up 

An anthem proud and free. 

Its summer skies, its golden clouds, 

Like banners rich unfurled, 
That floating wave in triumph there 

O'er an admiring world ; 



140 EARLY BUDS. 

And beautiful when morning waket^ 

Upon the eastern sky, 
When misty drapery departs 

As sunbeams wander by ; — 

And beautiful when moonlight eves 

Beam o'er the grassy lea, 
And music grand from unseen harps 

Is floating soft and free ; 
And bright when o'er the far blue hills 

The Sabbath sunlight breaks, 
And, thrilling to the chime of bells, 

A deep heart echo wakes ; — 

And beautiful where gray old rocks 

Are piled in mountains grand, 
From whose high brows we almost think 

To gaze on glory's land. 
Yea, earth is bright ; and evermore. 

From every tree and sod. 
Floats an eternal anthem up 

In gratitude to God. 



T)URE, true affection is a holy thing ; 
-*- A well of water in a desert land ; 
A dove that on the bosom folds its wing ; 
A blessing sent us by the Father's hand. 

A warm, rich gem, whose lustre brighter glows 
Amid the chilling storms of sorrow's night ; 

A lucid fount, that purer, clearer flows. 

When winter o'er the soul has shed its blight. 

Such would I wish that thy fond love might prove, 
Constant and changeless even till the last ; 

Pure as the loves of angels are above, 

Whose earth-born cares and sorrows all are past. 



142 EARLY BUDS. 

For fondly do I love thee, my sweet friend, 

And meekly trust, when life's bright scenes grow dim, 

Our 'raptured voices shall together blend, 
To chant in glory the eternal hymn. 



lot\tx, tbg §iiI)H is astep. 



" Whose all of life, a rosy ray, 
Blushed into dawn, and passed away." 

Mrs. Hbmans, 



MOTHER, thy baby is asleep 
Within the earth's cold breast ; 
And thy fond eyes may nevermore 
Watch o'er its gentle rest. 

Mother, thy baby is asleep, 

Forever free from strife ; 
Wouldst wake it, if the power were thine, 

And bring it back to life ? 

Twice has thy parent heart been torn ; 
And thou art young to know 

143 



144 EARLY BUDS. 

Tlie fountain of a mother's love, 
How pure and deep its flo 



w. 



Thy baby is in heaven now, 

Beside the shining throne ; 
Wouldst thou have had it live, to know 

The anguish thou hast known ? 

Is it not sweet for thee to think, 

Two shining seraphs now 
Bend o'er thee, and their soft white wings 

Fan thy poor throbbing brow ? 

Yea, though upon thy spirit rests 

The mantle dark of gloom, 
Thy little angels wait for thee 

In their bright heaven home. 

And, mother, o'er their lowly graves 
The pale wild flowers will spring. 

And sunbeams rest, and gentle peace 
Be sweetly whispering. 



I t\m\\ 0f tijet 



'My soul, gone forth from this lone breast, 
Lives onl^-, love, in thine ; 
There is its holy home of rest, 
Its dear, its chosen shrine." 

Terry. 



T THINK of thee, dear loved one, 
-*- In the beauty of the hour 
When morn unfolds her pinions 
O'er river, tree, and flower. 

I think of thee, dear loved one. 
When the noontide ray is bright, 

And tender blossoms, drooping, 
Shrink from the burning light. 

And I think of thee, dear loved one, 
When fall the shades of eve, 

13 i« 



146 EARLY BUDS. 

When sunlight, in the far-off west, 
Of day is taking leave. 

But 0, when silent Slumber 
Has cast her quiet wings, 

And visions to each sleeper 
Of bliss or sorrow brings, — 

'Tis then, 0, then, thy spirit 
Comes nearer unto mine. 

And I see thy dark eyes' lustre 
All fondly on me shine, — 

And I lift the veil that falleth 
O'er the secrets of my heart, 

And I find thou art the idol 
That must stay till life depart. 

Yea, my spirit's hidden fountain 

Reflecteth only thee, 
Where its waters flow forever 

Deep as the sounding sea. 



EARLY BUDS. 147 

And 0, I know thou lovest, 

Thou lovest even me, 
By the low words thou hast spoken, 

With purest constancy. 

Though distance interveneth, 

And hides thy cherished form, 
Thy heart, I know, is throbbing 

For me, true, fond, and warm. 



FATHER ! God ! the waves of sorrow 
Roll full darkly round me now ; 
0, 1 fear ; uphold — I falter ; 
Lead me to the mountain's brow. 

Bear me there, and give me, Father ! 

Strength in thee to upward gaze ; 
Let me feel that thou art with me 

Through life's thorny, troublous maze. 

Soothe and calm my weary spirit ; 

Let me rest my aching head 
On thy bosom, my Father ! 

Till all thought and care be fled. 



EARLY BUDS. 149 

Be my Guardian, be my Shepherd, 

Be my Savior and my Friend ; 
Be the Rock of my salvation, 

my Father ! to the end. 

Then across the waves of Jordan 

Bear me safely on thy breast, 
Where the weary, heavy laden 

Are forevermore at rest. 

Give me there a crown of glory, 
Robe, and harp, and victor palm ; 

Then, forever and forever. 
Hallelujah to the Lamb ! 

13* 



®()e Siiatotop, 



■ How precious is the slightest thing 
Affection gives and hallows ! 

A (lead flower will long be kept, remembrancer ol looks 
That made each leaf a treasure." 

L. E. Landon. 



T)ALE emblem of the winter snow, 
-*- Whene'er I look on thee, 
How many recollections rise 

On memory's tronbled sea ! 
Thou 'mind'st me of a gentle form, 

Of other, happier days. 
That early, sweetly passed away 

From life's bewildering maze. 

Ah, yes, she is before me now, 
As pure, as still, and white 



EARLY liUDS. 151 

As when her pale and icy form 

Last met my aching sight. » 

'Twas autumn, and the gentle flowers 

Had faded to their rest ; 
Not one remained to deck her shroud, 

No rosebud for her breast. 

But thou, pale snowdrop, lingeredst here 

When all beside had fled, 
And shed a halo o'er her bier — 

Our beautiful, our dead ! 
They placed thee in her little hands, 

And on her angel breast ; 
They laid thee in the grave with her, 

0, early called to rest. 

Father and mother ! though your hearts 

Were in that child enshrined, 
Yet patient was the hopeful trust 

With which she was resigned ; 
She was your last, your loveliest. 

Your youngest, brightest one, 



152 EARLY BUDS. 

Yet could your stricken spirits say, 
" Yea, Father, take thine own." 

'Twas my first sorrow ; 0, the storm, 
The wild, impetuous thrill ; 

God ! forgive — my wayward heart 
Rebelled against thy will. 

Yet 0, my spirit humbly trusts. 
Though with sad memories fraught, 

It learned a patience lesson then 
That may not be forgot. 

And now, when cares brood darkly round, 
And sorrow's billows roll, 

1 e'en rejoice in heaven rests 
That pure, enfranchised soul. 

I've placed a snowdrop by her grave, 

With roses there to blend, 
And soft and low its language speaks, 

" I'm not a summer friejid." 



WALLACE ! a name that e'er must bring 
Proud throbs to Scottish hearts ; 
A name to which the flight of years 

Fresh lustre still imparts ; 
A name that lingereth on the hills 

Of far, fair Scotia's shore, 
To which the soul of freedom thrills. 
Till freedom's reign is o'er. 

O'er blue Loch Lomond's lucid waves 

'Tis borne in music's tone, 
And winds, free winds, take up the chant, 

And waft it, waft it on. 



154 EARLY BUDS. 

And on each chime, glad chime, that rings 
From Scotland's pealing bells, 

From mountains, rocks, and dark ravines. 
The lofty psean swells ; — 

And blent with every wandering cloud 

That floateth o'er the domes, 
And cherished in true hearts, and proud. 

Of Scotia's olden homes. 
And e'en well might they honor thee — 

Thy name, of martial sound, 
Hath been their watchword, proud and free. 

On many a battle ground. 



TIATHER and motlier ! cherished names, 

-*- Familiar household words, 

Tliat send a peaceful pleasure-thrill »• 

Along the spirit's chords ; 
A throb of home love, joy, and hope, 

A blessing to the heart ; 
A gem that shineth brighter still 

When other loves depart. 

Father and mother, ye are dear. 

And I behold with woe 
The shadows thrown from Time's swift wing 

In furrows on each brow. 

155 



156 EARLY BUDS. 

I count the years ye yet may live, 
As miser counts his gold. 

And sigh, when sadly comes the truth, 
That ye are growing old. 

For 0, methinks we could not live 

Were our dear household band 
'Reft of its firmest, fondest links 

By Death's unpitying hand. 
0, if I breathe an earnest prayer, 

A wish, a hope, to Heaven, 
r 'Tis that for many pleasant years 

Your lives to us be given. 



^t Sunset 

fTlHE glory, the radiance 
-■- Of yonder bright sky, 
Where the sunbeams are meltino- 

In rich crimson dye ! 
I gaze in deep rapture 
Upon the bright ray, 
Yet there's too much strange beauty 
For pen to portray. 

0, if such resplendence 

To earth can be given, 
What must be the radiance, 

The glory of heaven ? 

14 157 



158 EARLY BUDS. 

Yet, e'en as I watcli it, 

It fadeth away. 
The beam so transcendent 

That followed the day. 

In the west, which so lately 

Was mantled with light, 
Are deepening and darkening 

The shadows of night ; 
And clouds of lone sadness 

Come wandering by, 
To dim all the rapture 

That beams in my eye. 

For such, sighs my spirit, 

The hopes of the heart — 
They dazzle with brightness. 

Then, fading, depart ; 
Eluding us ever. 

They fly as a dream. 
While we float on the waves 

Of mortality's stream. 



EARLY BUDS. 159 

Lord, we bless thee for heaven ; 

The hope is delight, 
For there is the sun 

That shall ne'er set in night. 
O, when we are weary, 

Uphold by thine arm. 
And guard us, my Father, 

From danger and harm. 

For there are fierce lions * 

Attending our path. 
And often we shrink 

From the valley of death ; " 
And Fear often whispers. 

While threading the road, 
Thou shalt ne'er see Mount Zion, 

The City of God. 

Then, Father, sustain us 
Our pilgrimage through, 

* Pilgrim's Progress. 



160 EAKLY BUDS. 

Till the country celestiiil 
Beams bright on our view ; 

When we plunge in death's river 
To gain that blest home, 

Let thy shining ones welcome, 
And shout, as we come. 



%\lt^ sleej) ill §ml 



' Take them, O grave I and let them lie 

Folded upon thy narrow shelves. 
As garments by the soul laid by. 
And precious only to ourselves." 

Longfellow. 



THEY sleep in dust, they sleep in dust, 
The bright young forms of other years 
They parted e'er their spring-time trust 
Was dimmed by woe, or bathed in tears. 

They slumber in the quiet grave. 
Unheeding grief, unknowing care, 

And gentle wild flowers bloom and wave, 
And green grass freshly springeth there. 

U* IGl 



162 EAULY BUDS. 

0, blessed the enfranchised dead. 
The fair, the pure, the early passed, 

While morning dews were round them shed. 
Escaped the stormy tempest blast. 

0, peaceful be their holy rest ; 

The grave is calm, the grave is sweet. 
And sunbeams o'er each gentle breast, 

Like beams of glory's radiance, meet. 

Affection's tears bedew the spot, 

And memory treasures up the dream. 

Which, though with saddened memories fraught, 
We would not lose on life's dark stream. 

Sweet to remember each bright smile 
That cheered us like a pleasant spell, 

Each parting token, and, the while. 
The echo of their last farewell. 

'Tis passing strange for thee and me. 
The playmates of that laughing band, 



EARLY BUDS. 16B 

That lightly roamed the sunny lea, 
While they have fallen, still we stand. 

But, dearest, thou art changed since then ; 

Thy soul is weary, and thy heart, 
From dreams in childhood's sunny glen, 

Awoke to feel the anguish dart. 

And though comparatively few 

Have been the years that thou hast seen, 

Thou find'st that earth is all untrue, 
And ne'er may wear such pleasant mien. 

And I, too — I have known my care ; 

Though light still beams upon my brow. 
There nestles a dim shadow there — 

A shadow from the wing of woe. 

Dearest, would not the quiet grave 

Be a sweet rest for thee and me ? 
Young souls have passed the shadowy wave — 

In life's bright morning they were free. 



1(54 EARLY BUDS. 

Then let us haste — 0, let uS haste — 
To meet the loved of early years ; 

We need but cross the watery waste — 
Our Father's house is free from fears. 



Came to mc noto, 

COME to nie now — for 0, I am so lonely ; 
Though crowds are round me, yet thou art not here ; 
Thy blessed smile, thy look of kindness only, 
Could aught avail my drooping soul to cheer. 

Come to me, come — for 0, I am so weary ; 

No voice but thine could whisper joy to me. 
All seemeth dismal, dark, and sad, and dreary — 

Haste, dearest, haste, for I would be with thee. 

0, come to me — my heart is full of sorrow ; 
Where'er I turn my weary, languid eyes, 

165 



166 EAELY BUDS. 

I see the sunshine, that I fain would borrow, 
Obscured in clouds upon my spirit skies. 

Life of my life ! thou art the only mortal 

That e'er has lived within my soul's deep shrine ; 

Yea, thou alone found entrance at its portal — 
Thou whom I worship as almost divine. 

My lute will echo only when I'm sweeping 

Its quivering strings to thy dear, cherished name. 

And sounding like the wail of sorrows weeping ; 
To other themes 'tis tremulous and vain. 

Yet if of thee thy worshipper but dreameth, 
Words flow in music to the wild-toned lyre ; 

And thrilling with deep love, my spirit seemeth 
To catch a spark of the Promethean fire. 

Yea, and without thee life to me were only 
A trackless wilderness, a waste of woe. 

Where farewell sounds are ever ringing lonely. 
And farewell tears in heart-wrung sorrow flow. 



EARLY BUDS. 167 

Then haste, 0, haste — my soul is sadly singing ; 

I long, I pine to hear thy thrilling voice. 
Oasis of my life ! to thee still clinging, 

Through all fate's storms, methinks, I cpuld rejoice. 



§0 pu rmemte? 



'Tis good to sing the hopes and fears 

Of childhood's happy day, 
Ere, in the silent lapse of years, 

Their memory fade away." 

JMaegaket Couktkey. 



SWEET friend, do you remember 
The pleasant hours of yore, 
When our daring footsteps clambered 

The rugged hillside o'er — 
The steep and rocky hillside, 

Where the noble pftie trees stood, 
And threw their waving shadows 
Athwart the leafy wood ? — 

Where nestled the meek violet 
Beneath the laurel boughs, 



EARLY BUDS. 169 

Of which we wreathed briglit garlands, 

And placed them on our brows? 
And do you not remember 

The plank, so stout and plain, 
Thrown o'er the turbid waters 

That were swollen by the rain ? — 

How, when our feet grew weary 

Of wandering around, 
We would sit within the shadows 

On the green and mossy ground, 
And tell each other legends 

All thrilling, dark, and dim. 
Of the fearful ghosts and fairies 

That haunted olden time ? 

And when called on for our authors, 
They were some good women old, 

Who would not tell a story 
For a solid mine of gold ; 

This was evidence conclusive, 

That we could not doubt, forsooth ; 

15 



170 EARLY BUDS. 

And we verily received it 
As unquestionable truth. 

Awe would steal across our faces 

As we hushed our merry glee, 
And marvelled much and reasoned 

How such wondrous things could be. 
And quicker through our bosoms • 

Would bound the lifeblood warm, 
Half fearing that the shadows 

Concealed some spectral form. 

0, 1 care not now to wander 

Where once I loved to be ; 
There is a talisman enshrined 

In every greenwood tree, 
That brings those sunny moments 

That are forever flown ; 
Each breeze, through leaflets murmuring, 

Echoes sweet voices gone. 

0, say, am I alone, my friend ? 
Or do such feelings roll 



EARLY BUD8. 171 

In strange, deep tumult ever through 

The cordage of thy soul ? 
Yet O, why need I ask thee this, 

E'en when my heart, I know. 
Was ever wilder in its bliss, 

And sadder in its woe? 



fljaw art feMng, 

rilHOU art fading, thou art fading ; 
-*- The pure light upon thy brow 
Is an earnest of the shadows 
Of the grave approaching now. 

Fading, yet thou clingest wildly 
To the ties of earthly home ; 

Life to thee has been all sunshine, 
Not a ray of cold, dark gloom. 

Long, black tresses floating o'er thee. 
Clinging round thee, like a cloud — 

Must that fair young form be shrouded, 
That bright head be early bowed ? 



EARLY BUDS. 173 

Thou art fading, thou art fading ; 

See the hectic fever high. 
Mark the wild, unearthly lustre 

Of the clear and speaking eye. 

Thou art passing, thou art passing 
From the bright and sunny lawn, 

Where thy bounding footsteps ever 
Sought the flowers at early dawn. 

Fading thou from thy young sisters — 

Soon thy gentle tones will come 
Only in the dreams of midnight 

To the loved ones of thy home. 

Thou art drooping, thou art drooping 

From thy gentle mother's side ; 
She must yield her worshipped treasure 

Back to Him who for thee died. 

Thou art fading, thou art fading ; 
Child of song ! 0, take thy lyre, 

1.5* 



174 EARLY BUDS. 

Tune its strings to swell the anthem 
Of the bright seraphic choir. 

Leave it not ; there is none other 
That can sing thy wild, sweet words. 

Bear it with thee, bear it with thee — 
Stranger hands would break its chords. 

Thou art passing, thou art passing ; 

Soon for thee the dream is o'er. 
Love is strong, yet cannot bind thee 

Longer on life's weary shore. 

Light is waning — pale and paler 
Parting sunbeams on thy brow ; 

Fainter grows the gentle falling 
Of thy languid footstep now. 

Bright and brighter is the lustre 
Beaming from thy soul-lit ^ye ; 

Child of earth ! it is an earnest 
Of thy glory in the sky. 



EAKLY BUDS. 175 

Soon kind hands will smooth the pillow 

Softly for thy latest sleep ; 
While the solemn dirge is chanted, 

Wildly will the mourners weep. 

Hope before thee spreads her pinions. 

Pleasure lures thee yet to stay ; 
But thou hear'st a voice forever 

Calling, calling. Come away. 

Thou art fading — golden prospects 

Blighted by the hand of Death ; 
Child of song I yet is not glory 

Brighter than a laurel wreath ? 



w 



till p tlpk 0f m^? 

'ILL ye think of me 
When the twilight fades, 
And the earth grows gloomy 
With deepening shades ? — 
When all around thee, and all above, 
Is hushed and low as the voice of love ? 

Will ye think of the hour 

When, through woodland shade, 
Our wandering footsteps 
In childhood strayed ? 
Shall I bear a part in your early dreams. 
When my memory fades from the wild wood streams ? 



EARLY BUDS. 177 

Will ye think of me 

When the gush of song 
Is floating sweetly 
The air along ? 
My favorite songs, will they cause a thrill 
In throbbing breasts when my heart is still ? 

Will ye think of me 

When grand music wings ' 
Through the listening air 

From the minstrel strings ? — 
Will not kind memory's sweet whisperings tell 
How my soul rose up on the free, proud swell ? 

Will ye miss my face 

On the Sabbath morn, 
When the peal of bells 
On the breeze is borne ? 
Will the light of your eyes with tears grow dim 
When my voice joins not in the chanted hymn ? 

Will ye think of me 
At the hush of night, 



178 EAKLY BUDS. 

When your souls arc calm 
As the moon's pale light ? 
When your brows are touched by sleep's gentle wand. 
I will bear ye dreams of my glorious land. 

Will ye think of me 

At the morning hour, 
When the pearl drops quiver 
On tree and flower ? 
And with all the faults of my wayward will, 
0, think of me fondly, and love me still. 

Will ye ever visit 

My tomb, to weep 
Q'er the cold, dark urn 
Where my ashes sleep ? 
Shall the grass grow thin with your frequent tread 
Round the grave where slumbers the happy dead *? 

Will ye plant flowers o'er me ? 

I loved them well, 
And I knew their haunts 

In the shady dell. 



EARLY EUDS. 179 

0, search for the violet, the wild rose pale ; 
They bloom in the depths of the woodland vale. 

Oft ye'll hear my voice 

On the air of even, 
As ray spirit roams 

From its far-off heaven ; 
And methinks with a wilder bliss 'twill thrill 
If ye think of me kindly, and love me still. 



i MMa S«ne. 

TT was a winter evening. Gloriously 
-^ The sun was fading in the far-off west, 
And floods of light illumined hill and plain, 
Casting rich radiance on the crusted snow, 
Which, white and spotless, held the icy earth 
In the chaste purity of its embrace. 
Entranced I stood upon -a distant hill 
To view the scene in its magnificence. 
ye, who think, when Winter sways his sceptre, love- 
liness, 
Beauty, and bloom have parted from the earth, 
Ye should have stood with me upon the brow 
Of that lone hill, and watched the gorgeous clouds 
Floating in splendor round the setting sun ; 



EARLY BUDS. 181 

And had there been witliiii your throbluDg breasts 
One spark of quick appreciation of the grand 
And glorious scenes of earth, ye would have been 
Enchained, entranced, spell-bound, as I was then. 
Below me frowned the forest, mournfully 
Waving its naked branches in the wind, 
With dismal, wailing sound, and dirge-like tone ; 
While, far away, the cold blue river rolled 
Her tributary wave towards the sea. 
Bearing rich brightness on her quiet breast. 
Tlie golden sun, proud, peerless king of day, 
O'ercanopied with matchless light, sank down 
Majestically to his evening rest. 
But 0, transcendent were the clouds that still, 
In splendor, lingered round the horizon ! 
In rich profusion every hue was blent — 
Crimson and golden, azure and pure white. 
0, how was decked the fair, chaste virgin snow 
In regal robes of grandeur ! and how shone 
The village windows, burnished with the light ! 
0, how my spirit longed, with master hand, 
To picture forth that bright, surpassing scene I 

16 



182 EARLY BUDS. 

Could I but have transferred each glittering hue 

To canvas, O, methinks it would have been 

A glorious masterpiece ; and yet 'tis vain 

To listen to such thoughts ; for none, ay, none, 

Save the bright finger of Omnipotence, 

Could shadow forth such glory. 

Faint, faint type of all the grandeur and the gorgeous- 

ness 
That crowd the city of our Father, God ! 
The shades of night gathered around me ; 
Yet I lingered still, 

To watch the passing of those heaven-tinged clouds ; 
And ere they all had faded in the west, 
0, wondrous fair and beautifully calm 
The moon arose : her silver horn, as yet, 
Was not quite full ; but 0, methought 
That I had never seen her radiant face 
So peerless in its loveliness as then. 
Obedient to her mandate, the bright stars 
Gathered to aid her in her nightly watch. 
First there appeared, of all that countless train. 
The little trembler nearest to her side. 



EARLY BUDS. 183 

As though she first with listening ear had heard 

The royal summons of her stately queen. 

And now another, and another, came. 

Until night's coronal was studded o'er 

With an innumerable host of gems. 

O, I shall ne'er forget that glorious eve, 

That scene magnificent, or the deep thoughts 

Its contemplation in my bosom stirred. 

How my rapt soul expanded, and grew warm 

With thrilling ecstasy, as I e'en thought 

That there must come a day 

When the worn chains, that bind our spirits down 

To this dark earth and life, shall be unloosed 

To let the weary, prisoned souls go free ! — 

Yea, free to soar where they can comprehend 

All lofty things, all high and holy themes ; 

Where glory, beauty, radiance have their homes 

Of deathless sunshine, 'midst eternal day. 



% grcimi of |)eai)m. 



•' O the bliss 
Tnat filled my being! Was there aught on earth 
That could have won me to assume again 
Jly mortal prison with its painful life ? " 

Mks. Pierson. 



"I /TY soul, 'neath a weight of untold woe 
-^'-*- And crushing sorrow, was bowing low ; 
And it wildly turned to the earth's cold breast, 
With an earnest longing to be at rest. 



In deep affliction, I prayed and wept. 

Till, worn with watching and tears, I slept ; 

And in that slumber a vision stole, 

In light and love, o'er my troubled soul. 

Methought my spirit had e'en been riven 
From the woe of earth to the bliss of heaven 



EARLY BUDS. 185 

Aud 0, the vision of glory bright 

That burst and blazed on my raptured sight ! 

I knew no death pangs, no anguish deep, 
My spirit passed in that tranquil sleep ; 
favored mortal ! supremely blest. 
No fears were thine, yet an endless rest. 

And robes of glory were given me, 

And from sin and sorrow my soul was free ; 

joy ecstatic ! the blessed thought. 

No more with woe shall my bliss be fraught. 

1 had read of heaven, yet the wildest dreams 
That ever blent with the poet's themes 
Were nothing ; no mortal may e'er command 
Fit language to speak of that glorious land. 

In the midst thereof was the shining throne 
Of the great, the holy, the lofty One — 
Our risen Lord, the victorious Lamb. 
Who meekly suffered and bore our shame. 

16* 



186 EARLY BUDS. 

And wherever wandered the raptured eye 
Were trees whose verdure might never die ; 
And flowers immortal were blooming rife 
On the banks of tlie river, Eternal Life. 

And there were people that host among 
Of every kindred and every tongue — 
Apostles, and prophets, and martyrs old, 
In robes of glory and crowns of gold. 

And the freshness of youth was upon them now, 
Its elastic step and unfurrowed brow. 
Its majestic mien and its bearing high, 
Its silvery voice and its soul-lit eye. 

And glory burst from a thousand chords 
To the King of kings and the Lord of lords ; 
And over the plains of that radiant shore 
Methouorht it was Sabbath for ever more. 



'&• 



And, 'neath the trees of immortal shade, 
The harpers and minstrels forever played ; 



EAKLY BUDS. 187 

0, ue'er may the soul that has heard that strain 
Be charmed by the music of earth again. 

Then a feeling of old o'er my heartstrings swept, 
And I asked for the loved ones for whom I wept ; 
Are tkey not here ? and 0, whither flown 
Are my lost, my lovely, my bright, my own ? 

We come, we come, my sister dear ! 
Long, long have we waited thy coming here ; 
And quickly came to my yearning sight 
My shining sisters in robes of light. 

But glorified, beautiful, radiant, now, 
Was the light that played o'er each angel brow ; 
To my heart I clasped them in rapture deep, 
But my spirit awoke from that blissful sleep. 

And the cold, gray dawn of the morning blue 
Was faintly beaming my lattice through ; 
0, gladly I'd suffer long years of pain 
To be cheered by that vision of love again. 



Me torn €\iMu U^d\tx. 

TT7E were children both together ; 

* ' And it seems but yesterday 
Since our merry, springing footsteps 

Chased the butterflies in play. 
0, the gay, the bright-winged pleasure 

In those halcyon hours we knew, 
When, the world before our spirits. 

All was joyous, all was true ! 

Up among the rocks we clambered, 
Searching for the brightest flowers ; 

Fearless, thoughtless, golden moments, 
Sunny childhood, blessed hours ! 



EAKLY BUDS. 189 

Time has passed on fleeting pinion — 

Childhood may not come again : 
Other faces fill onr places, • 

Happy now as we were then. 



mit ftnrlg fast. 



' Time hath no power to bear away 
Thine image from the heart; 

No scenes that mark life's onward way 
Can bid it hence depart." 



f\ NE'ER have tears been shed o'er truer worth 
^^? So fair, so dear, so early called from earth 
When the broad path of life before thee lay, 
Briglit as sweet dewdrops on the wing of May. 

The dwelling of thy boyhood e'er must be 
Lonely and sorrowful, bereft of thee ; 
The dark old forest and the sunny hill 
Will bring thy memory to the spirit still. 

As sunlight gilds a dreary, desert spot, 
As hope immortal that shall perish not, 



EARLY BUDS. 191 

As quiet, holy, incense-breathing spell, 
Doth thy dear name in fondest bosoms dwell. 

Yet the crushed hearts, through mists of sorrow's tears. 
Look down time's vista weary days and years : 
And faith's clear eye beholds the heaven-lit road 
That led thee upward to the throne of God. 



iljt frial flf f fffe 



M 



It is recorded in history, that during a time of famine, a mother beheld her 
two sons perishing of hunger ; and such was the strength of her atfoction, that 
she opened a vein in her arm, from the blood of which she prepared a bever- 
age, rendering it palatable by spices, and gave it to them. They, ignorant of 
what it was, or where she had obtained it, drank, and lived. 



Y sons ! my sons ! the mother cried ; ye must not, 
must not die ; 

Although the stream that warms my heart, my own life- 
blood, were dry. 

Yet would I drain its last red drops, could I my darlings 
save. 

Or stay from falling on their brows the shadows of the 



0, I myself could bear the pangs that torturing famine 
brings. 

And murmur not, though slowly burst my spirit's woe- 
worn strings ; ^•'- 



EARLY BUDS. 193 

But O, how can a mother's heart behold its dear 
ones die, 

As the sure, bitter hunger death steals o'er each sunk- 
en eye ? 

thou, my son, my first-born son, thou of the noble 

mien 
And step, wherein thy father's pride, his haughty pride, 

is seen — 
Tliou, at whose birth that deathless fount, a mother's 

yearning love. 
First gushed to thee, my own, my bright, pure as the 

heaven above ! 

0, none may know how swelled the pride in my mater- 
nal breast, 

When thou wert nestling in my arms in happy, peaceful 
rest, 

And on me gazed thy father's eyes, and kindly, fondly 
smiled ; 

How could I live without thy love, my child, my first- 
born child ? 
17 



194 EARLY BUDS. 

And thou, the last, tlie gentlest one, that to my arms was 
given, 

And hailed with smiles and tears of joy, a living gift 
from heaven ! 

How throbbed ray happy heart, to hear thy father say, 
with joy, 

He knew not which was dearest then, his dark or blue- 
eyed boy. 

Thou hast his brow ; thou hast his smile ; thou hast his 

gentle voice, 
Which, thrilling softly on my ear, bade my whole soul 

rejoice ; 
And he is gone ! — Heaven — kind Heaven ! may not 

a mother save 
Or hold all that is left of hope back from the yawning 

grave ? 

'Reft of thy love, my sons, my sons ! O, what is life 'to 

me ? — 
I who have lived, since died thy sire, my children, but 

for thee ? 



EARLY BUDS. 195 

I could not could not. — Drain I now the current rich 
and warm, 

The stream that beareth life and heat through my grief- 
stricken form. 

Here, drink ye, drink ye, my first born ; let the red tide 

be quaffed ; 
Thou art too weak, too faint, to ask Avhence comes the 

cooling draught. 
And thou, my youngest, how would throb thy heart witli 

pain to know, 
The mother breast, that nourished thee, her lifeblood 

saves thee now ! 



I WANDERED, one calm even, 
To the graveyard on the hill, 
When tlie breeze of summer fanned the earth, 

And lightly kissed the rill ; 
And all was decked in hues so bright. 
That, even there, my heart was light. 

I ever loved the graveyard ; 

And my footsteps often sought 
The calm and quiet beauty 

Of that memory-hallowed spot ; 
But never there did feelings start 
So peaceful in my throbbing heart. 

The fading sunbeams softly 

Gleamed through the locust trees, 

196 



EAKLY BUDS. 197 

That, waving, made sweet music 
To whispering of the breeze ; 
And rolling past that hill of graves, 
Swept the blue rivei''s sparkling waves. 

I sat me down upon a mound 

Where long the grass had grown, 

And many autumns passed above. 
And blighted leaflets strewn, 

And gazed around on each low bed 

Of once the living — now the dead. 

There were the little lowly graves 

Of fond young mother's pride — 
There had she placed her withered buds, 

AVith weeping, side by side ; 
And there the gentle maiden's charms 
Were closely clasped in Death's strong 
arms. 

There slumbered sturdy manhood, 
Of young and active bloom, 

17* 



198 EARLY BUDS. 

Whose warm cheek paled and strength grew 
weak 

Before the mighty tomb. 
And there reposed the aged one, 

Whose sun of life sank slowly down. 

There were the graves of kindred hearts 

Whom I had fondly loved ; 
And since they died, the world to me 

Had darker, sadder proved. 
But yet I felt, in that calm hour, 
I'd bring them not, were mine the power. 

For 0, so quiet was the scene — '■ 
So peaceful seemed their sleep. 

That musing, my young spirit thought 
'Twere even wrong to weep. 

And there I lingered till each star 

Was quivering from its home afar. 



S0ng» 



'Tia sad to mark the ravage that the heart 
Makes of itself— how one by one depart 
The colors that made hope." 

L. E. Landon. 



TTTH Y, my heart, this weight of sadness ? 

* * Canst thou nevermore be gay ? 
Lonely harp, so long neglected, 
I will strike thy chords to-day. 

I will sing ; — 0, who will listen — 
Listen, while my song will prove 

The deep weight of woe and anguish 
Li the wail of hopeless love ? 

Ay, of love, true and enduring, 
I hdve borne in silence long ; 



200 EARLY BUDS. 

But my heart, my pride is broken ; 
, It will struggle in my song. 

Once I e'en disdained love's letters, 
That could bind in thraldom down, 

And my heart owned no allegiance 
E'en to sceptre, throne, or crown. 

But 'tis past, and grief's dark mantle 
Rests upon my spirit now ; 

And its folds, so damp and heavy, 
Press around my throbbing brow. 

Life, and dreary earth, what art thou 
But a scene of cares and fears, 

Blighted hopes and faded pleasures. 
Joys that all are drowned in tears ? 



liMs to 



' And it is strange how a weak human heart 
Will thus be quiet, like a hushing storm, 
And, with a fetter on its pulses, wait." 

Willis. 



rpHOU hast remarked, in playful mood, 
-^ That thou didst know this heart of mine ; 
Yet none have known the feelings deep 
That tremble in its inner shrine : — 



The thoughts, too strange to be expressed, 
Or form themselves in fitting words. 

That linger in wild music e'er 

Around my spirit's quivering chords ; — 

Its strange, deep thirst for something highei- 
Its longing after nobler things, 



202 EARLY BUDS. 

Its vague and undefined desire, 

Whilst mortal, for innnortal wings. 

Yet 0, I have resigned the dream, 
■ The hope, while in this world of strife, 
To slake my thirst, till at the stream, 
The river of Eternal Life. 



Stamto m. 

Ol LUMBER on thy quiet pillow, 
^ Lowly in the damp earth's breast ; 
Silent waves of time's swift billow 
Sweep above thy peaceful rest. 

Still thy lonely mourner weepeth. 

Still she lingereth round the bed 
Where her soul's dear treasure sleepeth 

Calmly with the quiet dead. 

Still her constant heart is mourning 
For the form that hidden lies : 



204 EARLY BUDS. 

And the love that, ne'er returning, 
E'er on memory's wave will rise. 

Thy young children's footsteps, bounding, 
Often sought thy place of sleep, 

And their father's grave surrounding, 
Wept the tears that children weep. 

But young hearts again grow cheerful ; 

God has kindly willed it so ; 
Though their first, wild grief is fearful, 

Soon its shadows leave the brow. 

0, does not thy spirit hover 
Often on the wings of even, 

Earthly loved ones bending over. 

Whispering of the land of heaven, — 

Where no cloud of anxious sorrow. 
Where no tempest wild may come. 

Where thou fear'st no gloomy morrow, 
In thy Eden glory home ? 



EARLY BUDS. 205 

Slumber on thy quiet pillow, 

Ijowly in the damp earth's breast : 

Silent waves of time's swift billow 
Sweep above thy quiet rest. 

18 



€mu to tl]^ $msl 

/^OME to the forest, come ; 
^ The gentle maiden, Spring, 
Floats in her smmy bloom 
Aromid, on balmy wing. 

Come to the forest now ; 

The softly-pattering rain. 
Bidding the streamlets flow, 

Unbinds their icy chain. 

And there, ^nid early dew, 

The buds and pearl-gemmed flowers, 
To Spring's soft summons true. 

Bedeck the greenwood bowers. 



EAIILY BUDS. 20, 

And the sweet lichen green 

Is lingering on the hill, 
And — fallen leaves between — 

Peeps out, half doubting still. 

And fadeless there they stand, 

And have for ages stood — 
The pine trees, proudly grand, 

Within that dim old wood. 

Were they the only links 

To lure to that retreat, 
It were enough, methinks, 

To tempt thy wandering feet. 

But there the sunbeams dart 

And dance upon the rill ; 
And beauty will impart 

A glad, tumultuous thrill. 

And bright birds warble there ; 
List to their joyous lay : 



208 EARLY BUDS. 

It calleth, Cast off care ; 

Haste to the wildwood spray. 

0, come with me — 'tis spring ; 

Throw off that saddening spell ; 
Perchance with joy will ring 

Thy life's sweet lily-bell. 

We'll wander as of yore, 

Confidingly and true, 
E'en as in childhood's hour. 

The pleasant forest through. 

You say it cannot be ; 

That happy season's o'er ; 
That woe has come to thee ; 

Thou art a child no more. 

Yet 0, why need'st thou mourn, 
With heart in sorrow bowed ? 

The joys that can't return 
Are sleeping in their shroud. 



EAULY BUDS. 200 

Then come with me — 'tis spring ; 

Gladness is on the air ; 
Nor fold thy spirit's wing 

'Neath mantle of despair. 

Music is bursting forth 

From nature, glad and gay ; 
Shall children of the earth 

Refuse to join the lay ? 

Nay, beauty, brightness, bloom, 

"We hasten out to thee ; 
Come to the forest, come — 

dearest, come with me. 

18* 



/A GENTLE lady I thy sweet Forest Minstrel 
^-^ Was brought unto me by a kindly heart, 
That knew how closely woven with my being- 
Love for the beautiful sustained its part. 

And as I read thy sweet and thrilling pages, 
There breathed such tenderness in each sad line, 

I longed to clasp thee fondly to my bosom, 
And place thine image in my spirit's shrine. 

I've pictured thee a fond, meek, suffering woman, 
With depth of sorrow in thy gentle soul, 

Which lieth unrevealed and uncomplaining. 
Save when deep floods of song across thee roll. 



EARLY BUDS. 211 

Then the wild feelings that thou canst not smother 
Breathe in thy lyre's sweet, melancholy moan ; 

Would that I knew what bitter, secret anguish 
Its blighting spell had o'er thy being thrown. 

Lady, I ne'er beheld thee, yet I cherish 

Thy name, shrined deep within my constant heart ; 

And thy sweet image often floats before me 
In purity that fancy doth impart. 

And if, perchance, this weak and simple tribute 
Should ever meet the glances of thine eye, 

Then thou wilt know there is one bosom yearneth 
To fold its love around thee tenderly. 



Iiitlja; forgibc. 

XIATHER, forgive our erring souls 
-^ The weakness of imperfect wills ; 
Thou only know'st how oft they bound 

With higher, nobler, heaven-born thrills, 
And longings for a better life, 

For gentler, meeker, humbler hearts — 
Pure temples, fit for thee, O God ! 

Where no wild wave of passion starts. 

Yet firm resolves to act aright, 

And broken vows, and prayers, and teari 
These, Father ! these are all we bring, 

As onward sweeps the tide of years. 



EARLY BUDS. 213 

Often, when human faith grows weak, 

Despairingly we upward cast 
Long glances to the heavenly hills. 

Fearing we'll miss the goal at last. 



§xmn$. 



' Made up of star-crowned hopes, and purest loves. 
And joy's own purple prospects." 

W. G. SIMMS. 



SWEET visions, pillowed on the breast of night, 
When, for a season, the tired soul takes flight, 
When from the sleeper thought and care have fled, 
Helpless, defenceless, like unto the dead, — 

dreams, bright dreams, how often ye impart 
A quiet resignation to the heart ! 
xilthough ye vanish with the morning light. 
Yet your sweet memory cheers affliction's night. 

0, brightly beautiful in dreams they come — 
They that were once the sunshine of our home. 



EARLY BUDS. 215 

They who have early and securely passed 
The stormy tempest and the wintry blast, — 

Tliey o'er whose graves the grass is growing green, 
For whose dear sakes we wear a saddened mien — 
How sweet to fold them in our arms again, 
To know no parting, and to feel no pain ! 

0, how their voices thrill the air around ! 
What waves of gladness gush to meet the sound, 
As, softly naming us, they murmur o'er 
Familiar household words, as e'en of yore ! 

But still not e'en the vision, bright and fair, 
Can wholly banish that we parted were ; 
A spirit voice seems whispering in our ears. 
These are the idols of thine early years. 

Yet, dear tones ! soul-entrancing themes ! 
That steal like blessings to our midnight dreams, 
Ye speak of radiance that shall brightly break 
O'er our rapt souls, when we in glory wake. 



®rf0kr. 



/October; now % quiet mists 

^-^ Float o'er each distant hill, 
And wailing winds and yellow leaves 
Waken a dreamy thrill. 



The light is fading from the skies, 
And grandeur from the trees ; 

Their gorgeous drapery floats away 
On pinions of the breeze. 

Fresh, green, and beautiful they shone 
Through summer's sunny hours ; 



EARLY BUDS. 217 

But now tlic mildew of decay 
Hangs o'er earth's fairest flowers. 

Tne mournful, mournful autumn woods, 

How like to us are they ! 
Each passing moment bears our hopes, 

Like withered leaves, away. 

For still, through chambers of the soul, 

In dirge-like numbers, sweep 
Deep wailings over broken shrines, 

And mourning those who sleep. 

October, now thy lonely wind 

Swift back to memory brings 
Sounds that have slept in silence long 

Upon the spirit's strings. 

Yet do we love thee, though thou bear'st 

Thoughts on thy wailing breath 
Of falling tears and funeral trains, 

The panoply of death. 

19 



218 EARLY BUDS. 

And still, as years are sweeping on, 
Thy moments come and part, 

And deeper, sadder, wilder wake 
The music of the heart. 



|i §xm\\ 0f. tkL 

IDEEAMED, and methought, on a gray old rock 
That hung o'er the ocean's brine, 
There grew rich flowers, and so fair were they 

That I longed to call them mine. 
And I climbed the rugged, untrodden path 

With a fearless step and free ; 
And I gathered the flowers, in their rocky homes, 
For thee, love — all for thee. 

And I awoke, and it was a dream, 

And the sun was shining bright ; 
And the rugged path and the flowers had flown 

On the sable wing of night. 



220 , EAliLY BUDS. 



I had stood but in dreams on the gray okl roc 
That hung o'er the deep-blue sea ; 

Yet I'd peril my life, in my waking hours, 
For thee, love — all for thee. 



%\lt Mm. 

r\ LAMPS of night's blue arch, 
" Lit in the concave sky ! 
I watch your silent march 
With earnest eye. 

To-night I cannot sleep, 

Such restless feelings roll 
In tumult, strange and deep, 
Athwart my soul. 

'Tis past the midnight hour ; 

Yet from my casement still 
I mark the clouds that lower 
O'er distant hill. 

19 * 221 



222 EARLY BUD 8. 

And I would sing a lay, 

glorious stars ! to thee, 
That wandering, swimming, stray 
Through heaven's sea. 

But when soft spirit wings 
Gently waft me my lyre, 
I find upon its strings 

No thrilling fire. 

Its shattered, untaught chords 
Are seldom tuned to aught 
But sorrow's plaintive words, 
By memory brought. 

Often I dash it down 

As worthless ; let it lay, 
When my heart's sweetest tune 
It fails to play. 

Yet, though they feeble be, 
Its unimpassioned lays, 



EAKLY BUD.S. 223 

Bright stars, bright stars I to thee 
A song I raise. 

0, could I plume my wings, 
Now fettered to the clod. 
And fly where glorious things 
Speak of our God, — 

Methinks my heart could clasp, 

^ And glorious truths could reach, 
That mortals may not grasp, 
Or science teach. 

My spirit straying there. 

Amid the star-gemmed blue, 
Were lighter than the air 

'Twas wandering tlirough. 

The milky pathway roam. 

Stretching far down the sky, 
Xo soul in glory's home 

More blest than I. 



224 EARLY BUDS. 

0, ill my childish hours, 

When my young spirit drew 
Its gladness from the flowers 

And pearl-bright dew, — 

Each soul that burst its spell, 
Its chains, and prison bars, 
Methought had gone to dwell 
Amidst the star-s. 

I thought that God was there, — 

The God that conquered death, — 
And with a childish fear 
I loved my faith. 

Now childhood's thoughts are o'er ; 

Care in my bosom jars ; 
And yet I love ye more, 

, Stars, quiet stars ! 



%\t §Iig|to gui. 



' Vain on earth would beauty flourish, 
If it won no love elsewhere." 



■yiAIR child of spotless purity, 
-■- Bright being of a day, 
Thou dwellest in the angel home 
Beyond life's troubled way. 

Thine did not seem the sleep of death ; 

'Twas like to earthly rest, 
Save that no lifethrobs stirred the folds, 

White folds, upon thy breast. 

A rosebud, emblem sweet of thee. 
Kind hands had fondly brought. 



226 EARLY BUDS. 

And placed above thy shrouded heart 
So lovingly, methought. 

And they made a little grave for thee 

Deep in the quiet clay — 
Sweet star ! whose gentle light but shone, 

Then, glimmering, died away. 



%\t f0st treasures. 

II /TY gems are lost ! my gems are lost! 
-^' J- A fair child sadly cried ; 
Gems that my father brought to me 

Far o'er the ocean's tide, 
When his proud ship, by storm wing wild, 

On restless billows tossed ;, 
O, they may not be found again — 

My gems, my gems are lost ! 

A bright boy bounded down the bank, 

A boy with sunny brow, 
Where he had tied his treasured boats 

Amid calm waters' flow ; 



228 EARLY BUDS. 

But 0, the rain had swelled the tide 
And sadly went his tone 

Far floating o'er the waters wide, 
My boats, my boats are gone ! 

mortal ! there are gems of time 

Intrusted unto thee — 
Gems that the ever-sweeping tide 

Is bearing down the sea. 
Improve them, or thy weeping soul 

With restless horror tossed, 
Must echo back the wailing cry, 

My gems, my gems are lost ! 



mt fust f mh. 



' Yet many a tear these eyes must weep, 

And many a sin must be forgivcTi, 
Ere these pale lids shall sink to sleep, 
Ere thou and I shall meet in heaven." 

Mrs. Welby. 



/^ LIKE a dream, thine image still 
^-^? Floats back on memory's sea ; 
I see thee, as I saw thee last, 
Waving farewells to me, — 

The sunshine glistening in thy hair 
And gleaming o'er thy brow, 

As standing on the vessel's deck, 
While blue waves danced below, — 

20 229 



230 EARLY BUDS. 

Like to a l)rilliant evening star, 
A lovely morning cloud — 

So gentle and so beautiful, 
And yet so nobly proud. 

All eagerly I stood and gazed 
Till distance hid from sight, 

And faded like a pleasant dream, 
Thy form of passing light. 

'Twas our last interview on earth ; 

Yet had my spirit known, 
I could not e'en have breathed farewell 

In gentler, kinder tone. 

0, there was in thy calm, proud look, 
That drew my heart to thee, 

A something sweet, yet unexpressed 
Forever must it be. 

Methinks 'twas better thus to part 
In pleasure's pleasant spell, 



EARLY BUDS. 231 

Tliiiu hear, in anguish wild and deep, 
The death tones of farewell. 

Yet 0, the bitter, bitter news 

My spirit bowed beneath — 
That thou, far in a stranger land, 

Hadst met the angel Death. 

Didst think of me, in that dark hour 

When life was ebbing slow, 
When utterance failed, and eyes were glazed. 

And heart throbbed faint and low ? 

'Twas woe to think thou wert alone. 

Thy sufferings to bear ; 
But, dearer far than earthly friend, 

Savior ! thou wert there. 

Thou didst receive the passing soul, 

Ransomed from earth and sin ; 
Mount Zion's portals backward rolled, 

To let the weary in. 



232 EARLY BUDS. 

And I shall see thy radiant face, 
AVhen o'er the wave I've striven, 

Looking for me in hope e'en from 
The battlements of heaven. 



^t farting of Haplmt aitir |0sejWue. 

rpHEY parted — 0, what agony was in that fearful 
-■- strain, 

As palace chamber, court, and hall reechoed it again ! 
And he to climb ambition's height, that, towering, 

gleamed above, 
And she to die upon the shrine, the shrine of hopeless 

love. 

Dark words ! ye fell upon her ear as clods on coffins fall. 

Wrapping her heart's high dreams of hope in sable fu- 
neral pall — 

Words prompted by a restless soul, that longed to wan- 
der forth. 

Sounding its fame in conquests wide, its battle field the 
earth. 

20* 233 



234 EARLY BUDS. 

0, woman's heart, and woman's faith, and woman's love 

are strong. 
Else had her soul resented then its bitter, bitter wrong ; 
Yet love still poured like lava tide through all her 

yearning breast. 
Mingling the weary stream of life with waves of wild 

.unrest. 

And seeing this, how could he turn her clinging love 
away — 

She the bright star that o'er his path shone with benig- 
nant ray ? 

And how to mad ambition's thirst that constant heart 
resign, 

And leave her, when he loved her most, in hopeless grief 
to pine ? 



^ fitge for Site. 



' She has passed like u bird from the minstrel throng ; 
She has gone to the land where the lovely belong." 

Mes. Welbt. 



LILA, beloved, thou art gone to thy rest ; 
Pale are thy hands on thy gentle young breast ; 
Dimmed is the light of thy beautiful eye ; 
0, thou wert young, thou wert lovely to die. 

Woe for thy dwelling, 'tis silent and lone ; 
Music, and laughter, and pleasure have flown ; 
The lialls, where in gladness thy gentle laugh gushed, 
Sliall echo no more — its wild melody's hushed. 

Pale is the light on thy beautiful brow ; 
Darkly death's shadows play over it. now ; 



236 EARLY BUDS. 

Stilled are the throbs of that bounding young heart 
Lila, beloved, thou wert young to depart. 

Tears are shed for thee — sad, heart-breaking tears ; 
Thou wert the idol of many long years ; 
Wildly thy parents hung over thy bed — 
Wildly they weep that their darling is dead. 

God, give them grace and submission to bow ; 
HSavy thy hand in its chastening now ; 
0, cast a shadow of light on their way ; 
Bid them look up to thee — be thou their stay. 

Yet shall we meet thee, where storms never roll, 
With heaven's bright angels, a glorified soul : 
Swell the glad triumph o'er glory's bright plain — 
There shall we meet thee, lost Lila, again. 



I 



BLESS thee, my Father ! that thy kind and gen- 
erous hand 

Cast my lot amidst the blessings of this fortmie-favored 
land ; 

That glorious sunlight bathes my brow, and breezes fan 
my cheek ; 

Where e'en the waters, in their flow, of chainless free- 
dom speak. 

I bless thee that e'en I can stand upon the mountain's 

brow. 
Where tall, dark pine trees, frowning, rise in grandeur 

far below ; 

•Jfi7 



238 EARLY BUDS. 

And whilst mad waves are rushing on in ever-hurrying 

play, 
Exulting feel that my proud soul is fetterless as 

they. 

I bless thee for the gentle hearts thy kindly hand has 
given 

To cheer my soul, and whisper sweet of hope in thee 
and heaven ; 

Who gently bear with all the faults of my too way- 
ward will, 

And with a firm, unswerving faith, they fondly love me 
still. 

I bless thee for each joyous hope that clusters round 

my heart ; 
For all the pleasant, sunny scenes in which I bear a 

part ; 
For the deep bliss that loving smiles have o'er my 

being shed ; 
For every blessing thou hast showered in kindness on 

my head. 



EARLY BUDS. 239 

I bless tliee, my Father, God ! I bless tliee in deep 
words 

For power that thou hast given me to strike the mur- 
muring chords ; . 

My spirit lyre, although uncouth and wild may be thy 
strain, 

I love to sweep the quivering strings — they echo not 
in vain ; — 

No, not in vain ; though sad may be thy plaintive, 
dirge-like moan, 

Still breathe thy feelings forth, my soul, in every pass- 
ing tone ; 

Though no heart's offering may be placed upon thine 
humble shrine. 

It is enough that thou hast power to gladden even 
mine. 

I bless thee. Father, for all ♦these ; yet more, yea, ten- 
fold more. 

When tempest gloom, and shadows dim, of this dark 
life are o'er ; 



240 EARLY BUDS. 

For earnest hope, that upward looks, with clear and 

steady eye, 
E'en through the sunbright portals wide, to crowns and 

thrones on high. 

I now behold thee, Father, God, dimly, as through a 

glass ; 
But the eclipse of mortal life shall from my spirit 

pass ; 
There, lost in clouds of glorious light, amid the 'wil- 

dering blaze 
Of heaven's splendor, on thy face I shall forever 

gaze. 

And stars shall burn, and moons shall wane, as seasons 

onward roll, 
And still it shall but seem a day to my bliss-laden 

soul : 
And there the harp thai? now is weak shall tune its 

nobler chords. 
To swell thy praise foreverraore, eternal Lord of 

lords ! 



f 0St itoggie. 



' Yet why should death be linked with fear 
A single breath, a low-drawn sigh, 

■Can break the ties that bind us here, 
And waft the spirit to the sky ? " 

Mrs. Welkv. 



r\ GENTLE, angel Maggie ! 
^^ Long years have o'er me sped 
Since they bore thee in thy beauty 

To the mansions of the dead ; 
Yet Memory, blessed Memory, 

Ever faithful to her trust, 
Now bringeth back in loveliness 

Thine image from the dust. 

We both were very young, Maggie, 
When you were called away ; 

Yet O, my heart remembers still 
The anguish of that day. 

21 241 



242 EARLY BUDS. 

They told me thou wert dead, Maggie ; 

But I could not think it true 
Till I gazed upon thy rigid form, 

Of pallid marble hue. 

0, lovely wert thou then, Maggie ; 

I never shall forget 
The look of peace, the heavenly calm, 

That on thy features set. 
The holy smile that lingered still 

Its radiant halo shed 
O'er thy pure brow, thy folded hands, 

And lowly-pillowed head. 

So still, so fair wert thou, Maggie, 

I could have hushed my woe. 
But for the coffin and the shroud — 

They told where thou must go. 
And 0, my childish heart shrank back, 

And shuddered at the gloom ; 
It had not learned to look beyond 

The precincts of the tomb. 



EARLY BUDS. 243 

Tliey bade me not to liuger near, 

Fearing, as well they might, 
The dread, contagious fever breath 

That bore thee from our sight. 
Yet I could not, could not go, Maggie, 

Till my lips had wildly pressed 
Thy pure white brow, thy rigid cheek, 

Thy hands upon thy breast. 

And I lingered still, to fondly gaze 

On thy fair form of clay, 
Until they closed the coffin lid. 

And hurried me away. 
And I followed, sadly sobbing, 

For I could not comprehend 
That I yet again should see thee, 

My childhood's earliest friend. 

Thou wert lovely in thy life, Maggie, 

But lovelier in death — 
A young, bright rosebud, snatched away 

From pure affection's wreath. 



244 EARLY BUDS. 

They say that children's griefs, Maggie, 
Are transient in their flow ; 

But 0, my heart remembers still 
Its earliest childish woe. 

0, we missed thy gentle form, Maggie, 

For many a weary day, 
Beside the brook and in the glade 

Where we were wont to stray ; 
And 'neath the old oak tree, Maggie, 

Upon the sunny hill — 
0, to that old, familiar spot 

Remembrance clingeth still. 

Long years have come and gone, Maggie ; 

I am a woman now, 
And smiles and tears, like April rain. 

Have fallen on my brow ; 
Bright pleasure's hour of joyous mirth, 

And sorrow's withering dart. 
In fear and hope alternately. 

Have throbbed within my heart. 



EARLY BUDS. 245 

Dost ever see me now, Maggie? 

Methinks, in summer eves, 
Its shining home in yonder heaven 

Thy radiant spirit leaves ; 
For often, when the pall of night 

Its gloom around me flings, 
I close my eyes, and seem to hear 

The rush of spirit wings. 

Soft, unseen lips to mine are pressed, 

Soft fingers twine my hair — 
O, tell me, at that sacred hour, 

Sweet Maggie, art thou there ? 
And often, from this real world ^ 

To the ideal riven, 
I almost fancy that I hear 

The very harps of heaven. 

But these are dreams ; 0, would that I 

With thee had sunk to rest, 
Ere care and woe, dark funeral train. 

Came crowding to my breast ! 

21* 



246 EARLY BUDS. 

For the world is not so fair, Maggie, 
As the heart in early youth 

Portrays its scenes, all glowing with 
The poetry of truth. 

Art thou much changed in looks, Maggie ? 

For they tell me, even there 
That souls expand and strengthen 

In the heaven-hallowed air. 
Hast fairer, brighter grown, dearest ? 

E'en still I can rejoice. 
For surely I shall know thee 

By the dove tones of thy voice. 

0, when my soul is weary, 

As it feeleth even now. 
And the shadows of affliction 

Rest darkly on my brow, 
Then, with wild and intense yearning. 

It turneth to thy rest. 
Where the parting sunbeams quiver. 

Through the roses, o'er thy breast. 



EARLY BUDS. 247 

But the way is dark aud dreary, 

With oases here and there, 
Like precious springs of water 

In a desert parched and bate. 
Yet it cannot last for aye, Maggie — 

My spirit must be free ; 
And when the waste is travelled o'er, 

Then will I come to thee. 



StoitjerlattJr, 



SWITZERLAND, proud Switzerland! how sweetly 



^-^ in my dreams 



There cometh, stealing to my soul, the murmur of thy 

streams ! 
O, brightly o'er thy far-off shore the sun in glory shines, 
As Grandeur there forevermore her fadeless garland 

twines. 
My spirit floats away, away, borne on light fancy's wing, 
O'er the old ocean, to the land where living beauties 

spring ; 
And, straying on thy fertile shores, glorious River 

Rhine, 
I feel, 'mid grandeur loudest speaks the voice of God 

divine. 



EARLY BUDS. . 249 

I wander by Geneva's lake, blue lake, whose waters 
lave 

'i'he clime where Arnold Winkelried sank to his sol- 
dier's grave ; 

I see the living laurels bright, that spring his tomb 
above, 

K('pt green, kept green forevermore, by gratitude and 
love. 

And wafting onward, upward, still my soul with rapture 
glows ; 

Below me smiles a fairy world — above, eternal snoAvs ; 

While music thrills through all the air, exultingly I 
stand 

High on the peaks of lofty Alps, in glorious Switzer- 
land. 

I raise my brow, I fold my hands, shut my adoring eyes. 

While on my soul the picture falls, and lightly, softly 
lies ; 

There will it stay, with blissful dreams and beauties 
proudly grand. 

In lights and shadows blending still, glorious Swit- 
zerland ! 



fra t0 t\t lten0rg j}f Ito. Itetg gc^lcr. 



" The angel of the covenant hatl come, and, faithful to his promise, 
Stood prepared to walk with her tlirough death's dark vale." 

POLLOK. 



11 /TY harp, I touch thy loneliest chord 
-^^-^ A mournful task is thine — 
To wail the dirge of one who died 
As summer suns decline, — 

Who closed her eyes, and sank to sleep 
Calm on her Savior's breast, 

Serene in'faith and strong in hope 
Of her eternal rest. 

Her life was one great deed of love ; 
By her Redeemer's side, 



EARLY BUDS. 251 

In glory now the brightest star, 
Through Jesus sanctified. 

But thou must sing, my mournful lyre, 

A mother snatched away 
From all life's dearest, holiest ties. 

To cold and silent clay. 

0, shall that kind and gentle hand 

In blessings nevermore 
Rest lovingly on thy dear ones 

As it was wont of yore ? — 

Thou who didst ever strive to point 

Their youthful feet the road 
That leadeth through this woe-worn world 

To happiness and God. 

And has that tender love and care 

Forever from them passed ? 
Must they without thee brave the storm. 

The world's unpitying blast ? 



252 EARLY BUDS. 

Father ! sliield them 'neath thy wings ; 

Be thy great love revealed ; 
And 'mid their anguish, give them strength 

With patient hearts to yiekl. 

And victory, glory, praise shall be 

Eternally thine own, 
When, trials past, they all shall meet 

Their mother round thy throne. 



®I]0u art t\m0. 



"Many things have I loved that now to me 
Are as a marvel how they loved could be." 

L. E. Lanuo? 



'rjlIS the solemn hour of midnight ; 
-■- Wild storms are wailing loud, 
And hurrying past the casement 

Where my weary head is bowed ; 
Yet I do not heed the warfare, 

For my soul is bitter now. 
And I watch the wild confusion 

With a stern and haughty brow. 

spirit of the tempest ! 
Lend me thy rushing wings ; 

1 fain would soar from sorrow 
In search of nobler things. 

22 263 



254 EARLY BUDS. 

I'd wander up and upward 
To fields of fadeless youth, 

To seek two gentle maidens, 
Called Purity and Truth. 

For I would even learn of them 

If ever they impart 
The essence of their gentle names 

To any mortal heart. 
For 0, a sceptic's nature 

ivfy spirit doth imbue — 
I doubt disinterested love, 

Since thou hast proved untrue. 

Yet do not seek to flatter 

Thyself in the belief 
That thou hast caused me sorrow, 

Or even tinge of grief. 
No, there's within my bosom 

A feeling to the last, 
That rises up in triumph 

O'er the ashes of the past. 



EARLY BUDS. 255 



^o ' 



We have long been true and loving 

And I would liave thouglit that thou 
Mightst have known me better than to think 

That / to thee would bow ; 
And dearly as I've loved thee, 

My spirit will not brook 
Thy tone of proud presuming, 

Or thy patronizing look. 

Yet you vainly sought to humble 

Heart invincible as mine — 
As soon, within the concave heavens, 

The stars forget to shine. 
And, verily, you knew it — 

You knew that just as soon 
Would gather midnight darkness 

At the burning hour of noon. 

To haughtiness I'm haughty ; 

For pride I give back pride ; 
Yet to gentleness I'm gentle 

E'en as aught on earth beside. 



256 EARLY BUDS. 

"* And tliou art proud to stiffness ; 

But let me say to thee, 
My soul is more unyielding 
That yours can dare to be. 

Yet I will not reproach thee ; 

And I never can forget 
The sunny hours in childhood's mom 

When first, 'mid flowers, we met. 
Thou art not what I deemed thee, 

The loving, fond, and true ; 
And therefore I can bid thee 

A cold and calm adieu. 
For there's within my bosom 

A feeling to the last, 
That rises up in triumph 

O'er the ashes of the past. 



ANGEL of sable wing ! whence comest thou? 
Dark is the mantle shrouding thy pale brow 
Sepulchral are the tones that echo by ; 
Whence art thou, spirit of cold, hollow eye ? 

Thy stealthy step tramples all earthly joys ; 
Our fondest pleasure 'neath thy chill feet cloys ; 
foe invincible ! each icy breath 
Beareth its thousands to the halls of death. 

Thou stealest to the mansions of the proud, 
And hovels of the wretched, sorrow bowed ; 
And, at thy entrance, wails of anguish wring — 
All are thy subjects, gloomy terror king ! 

22* 267 



258 EARLY BUDS. 

Thy laugh demoniac fills the shuddering ear. 
When harsh clods fall upon the loved one's bier, 
xingel of woe ! spirit of dark-browed gloom ! 
Sable-winged messenger I whence art thou come ? 



HA ! seekest thou to know me ? who am I ? 
Poor, puny mortal ! this is thy reply — 
Born 'mid the ruins of the first great fall, 
Since then the world bears witness to my thrall. 

When first thy parents, weeping, hand in hand. 
Strayed from the garden of their Eden land, 
Then went I, a dark spirit, spreading forth 
Destruction like a whirlwind o'er the earth. 

And ye may trace the havoc of my way 
On the dark ocean, when fierce storm clouds play, 
And on the battle field, where thousands lie, 
My fearful shadow in their glazing eye. 



260 EARLY BUDS. 

1 will the tide of desolation roll, 

Till He, who only can my will control, 

From his high throne shall call, Cease, conquering one I 

Then am I powerless — my stern mission done. 



llinstol, sing. 

ly TY heart is glad ; 'tis free and light ; 
-^^-^ Let music fill the air to-night ; 
0, wake some wild, chivalric lay 
Of valiant knights and ladies gay. , 
Sing, minstrel, sing. 

Of tournament and royal feast, 
Where flowed rich wine of luscious taste, 
I love the themes of olden time, 
Ere the young world was in its prime, — 
Then, minstrel, sing. 

But do not let the song be one 
That blendeth sorrow in its tone ; 



EARLY BUDS. 

Ay, sweep the chords to bliss to-night, 
For 0, my bosom is so light ! 

Strike, minstrel, strike. 

Pure love may breathe its deepest strain, 
But not its anguish, not its pain ; 
For I would have no sadness roll 
With the glad waters of my soul. 

Bright minstrel, sing. 



Wttp. 



' Whom the gods love die young, was said of yore ; 

Aud many deaths do they escape by this — 
The death of friends, and, that which slays e'en more, 

The death of friendsliip, love, youth, all that is 
Except mere breatli." 



TT7EEP, father, weep ; thy dear young earthly idol 

* ^ Hath gone in life's young spring time to the grave ; 
Her voice is hushed, her eyes are closed forever ; 
The feeble arm of mortal could not save. 



Weep, mother, weep ; well mayst thou, for none other 
Can feel the anguish of a mother's heart ; 

She was thy hope, thy joy, thy pride and blessing — 
0, bitter trial, thou and her to part ! 

Vea, e'en weep on ; 'twill calm thy wounded spirit ; 
Her face is ever absent from the hearth ; 



264 EARLY BUDS. 

Hers was a heart warm, loving, constant, trusting, 
A pure, bright jewel of transcendent Avorth. 

Weep, sisters, weep ; her voice shall never bless thee, 

Or whisper consolation to thee now ; 
Low in the dust her youthful form is sleeping, 

With death's cold kiss upon her icy brow. 

Weep, brothers, weep ; with you no more she'll wander 

In old familiar haunt or shady dell. 
Weep ; for tears are fond nature's warmest tribute, 

And earthly love's last, sorrowful farewell. 

0, well may ye all mourn ; for it is fearful 
To see, to know, yet feel we cannot save. 

Or even stay the stern destroyer's mandate 

Which bears our household treasures to the grave. 

Yet 0, mourn not as those that have no comfort ; 

For angel bands have borne her soul away, 
And in her father's mansion now she dwelleth, 

Hymning his praises in eternal day. 



EARLY BUDS. 265 

But e'en rejoice that now a crown of glory 
Rests on the brow made free from earthly sin, 

And she liath flown where pain, and death, and sorrow, 
And sound of farewells cannot enter in. 

Rejoice, rejoice ; for ye again may meet her, 
May see her -with her Savior face to face, 

And with her swell the glorious song of triumph 
Through the full riches of our Father's grace. 

23 



m\ art afar. 



T 



And let me perish, be my prayer, 

Semele-like, of love's excess. 
Or ere thy brow a cloud shall wear, 

Or ere thou learn to love me less." 

Mrs. Hkvvitt. 



HOU art afar, thou art afar ; 



-*- 0, sadly beams our own sweet star ; 
It seems to shine through mists and tears, 
Dark earnest of the future years. 

Why is it that my troubled soul 
Will yield to sorrow's stern control ? 
No scene, no tone, can joy impart 
When thou art absent from my heart. 

Yet, though afar, I see thee now — 
The raven locks on thy high brow. 



EARLY BUDS. 267 

The flashes of thine earnest eye, 
Dark as the shades of midnight sky. 

Thou canst not know how pure and deep 
The thoughts that through my bosom sweep ; 
Nor half the love that, at thy shrine, 
My spirit offers up to thine. 

0, tell me, dost thou worship me 
With such a wild intensity? — 
Whatever bliss is round thee thrown, 
Dost thou still turn to me, my own ? 

Say, is my form in absence e'er 
Around thee, and forever near ? 
Does living memory's wondrous power 
Bring back my smile to cheer the hour ? 

Dost turn to me as stars of even 

Turn to the midnight queen of heaven ? 

For 0, my being, proud and free, 

My light and hope are merged in tliee. 



268 EAIILY BUDS. 

If not, then we had better part ; 
I'd have no undivided heart ; 
The homage that my soul doth keep 
Seeks full return, all pure and deep. 

Yet if thou lov'st with deathless love, 
That constant to the last will prove, 
I will not break the mighty spell ; 
'T would wring my soul to say farewell. 



T HAVE said in angry moments 
■^ Harsh and bitter words of thee 
But forget, and 0, forgive them. 
As you would forgiven be. 

Thou hast often deeply wounded 
The best feelings of my heart ; 

But an unforgiving spirit 
Cannot form of me a part. 

I renounce the bitter memories 
That were mingled with thy name 

They shall never in my bosom 
Find a place — do thou the siuue. 

23* -'-• 



270 EARLY BUDS. 

Thou hast had just cause to deem me 
Faithless and unkind to thee ; 

But forget, and 0, forgive it, 
As you would forgiven be. 



rnHOU hast done nobly, proud heart! 
J- Thy triumph hour has come at last ; 
For thou hast conquered all the spells 
That love had o'er thy being cast. 

And he may sue, and wait, and kneel ; 

For, haughty as an empress now, 
Thy trusting heart is turned to steel. 

And scorn is written on thy brow. 

And it is well ; thy proud contempt 

Most undeniably will prove 
That weak, confiding woman's heart 

Has strens-th to hate as well as love. 



Mlim m t\q? 



" As yet it may be in some purer sphere, 
No cloud, no parting, no sleepless fear ; 
So my soul may bear on, through the long, long day. 
Till I go where the beautiful melts not away." 

Mrs. Uemans. 



r\ WHERE are they, those forms of light, 
^'^ That seemed ethereal in their birth — 
So radiant, so surpassing bright, 
Fair jewels of intrinsic wortli ? 

They are not here, they are not here ; 

A sense of loneliness will steal 
To cloud the spirit's light, whene'er 

The truth of those sad words we feel. 

0, in the forest, by the stream. 
And every old familiar spot, . 



EARLY BUDS. 273 

Eiicli gentle, loved, and cherished name 
We call, and yet they answer not. 

Sometimes we listen, hushed and still. 

When gentle air is sighing round. 
And our hearts bound with sudden thrill — 

We seem to hear their voices sound. 

But 'tis imagination's power 

That bringeth back that lost, loved strain ; 
And lingering here, 0, nevermore 

'Twill bless or gladden us again. 

Gone, gone ; 'tis only echo sad 

That answers back their cherished names ; 
Ye need not seek them in the glade, 

Or by the shady wildwood streams. 

0, nought but living memory now 

To earth can bring those forms the while ; 

The voices lute-like in their flow — 
The radiance of each loving smile. 



274 EARLY BUDS. 

Where is the form that has not bowed 

In anguish o'er the quiet clay, 
Where, sleeping calmly in its shroud, 

The idol of the bosom lay ? 

And are there lips that have not drank 
Th' o'erflowing cup of bitter woe 

From which the spirit, trembling, shrank ? 
I list — ye answer truly, No. 

Well, claim them. Grave ; they are thine own ; 

Faith whispers sweet of Glory's plain, 
Where, surely, by the Father's throne 

Bright hopes and loves shall live again I 



|i |ara}i|rH5e of tlje fort's frapr. 

PART FIRST. 

" Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come." 

IN dreamy silence I sat me down, 
For Despair o'er my spirit had shed her frown ; 
And tlie evening air bore no balm for me, 
Though the breath of summer was on the lea. 
With impatient gesture I raised the sash, 
And threw back the shutters, while sunlight's flash, 
As if to cheer by the radiant hue. 
O'er my brow its mantle of splendor threw. 

I gazed on nature ; upon each tree 
The young leaves quivered with ecstasy. 



276 EARLY BUDS. 

For their fresh existence was dawning light, 

And my soul grew calmer ; earth still was bright. 

A strain of music now caught my ear, 

And the mingling of voices in cadence clear ; 

A moment I bent o'er the window sill, 

And my spirit awoke to the wild, sweet thrill. 

And I caught up my bonnet, and o'er the lea 
Impulsively bounded with footstep free, 
Till the old church rose on my eager eye. 
With its Gothic structure and steeple high. 
I stood in the shade of the half-closed door, 
With a thrill of awe never felt before ; 
For they sang God's sufferings, his painful death, 
The bitter cross and the thorny wreath. 

And the full, rich swell of the organ rose, 

And seemed to respond to our Savior's woes, 

As it echoed back in deep, wailing tone 

The anguished groans of the Holy One. 

There were matrons, and maidens, and old men tlierc, 

In the holy calm of the house of prayer, 



EARLY BUDS. 277 



And happy childhood, with bosom light, 
And manhood, exulting in vigor's might. 



And sweetly their blended tones rose np 

To the Savior, who tasted the bitter cup. 

In the very words that himself had given — 

" When ye pray, say, Our Father, who art in heaven. 

Our Father in heaven, all hallowed be 

Thy name, in the homage we offer to thee, 

And o'er earth's night of dark tempest gloom. 

In might and power let thy kingdom come." 

And 0, methought, when this throng all meet 

In that awful hour at the judgment seat, 

Shall they hear the summons, 0, come, ye blest ! 

Enter into the land where the weary rest. 

24 



278 EARLY BUDS. 



PART SECOND. 

" Thy will be done in earth as it is in heaven." 

T SAW, at the silent hour of night, 

-^ A mournful scene by the taper's light ; 

0, the pitying angels well might weep 

For the true heart bleeding in anguish deep. 

In the death-like hush of that solemn room, 

A fair young wife, in youth's early bloom, 

Bent over the loved one's fading form, 

Her meek head bowed by the crushing storm. 

For now he was dying ; deep Agony kept 
Her watch, while sweet Pity, low murmuring, wept. 
The voice that e'er thrilled through her heart like a spell 
Was breathing in anguish, '[ Dear Mary, farewell." 
She smoothed the dark locks from that fair, high brow, 
That had changed to the pallor of death even now, 
And wildly she kissed the cold moisture tiway. 
That lay like a pall o'er his forehead of clay. 



EARLY BUDS. 279 

He had soothed her in sorrow, had blessed her in 

bliss ; 
The smiles of her rapture were borrowed from his ; 
The light of his eye was the light of her own. 
0, ne'er were two beings so blended in one ; 
And now, e'en could gladness illume her dark eye, 
0, where the kind glance tliat was wont to reply ? 
And when the stern tempests of sorrow would come, 
What breast be her pillow, what heart be her home ? 

Father ! she cried, in deep tones of despair, — 
And her wild wail of anguish was borne on the air, — 
O, let me go with him — God ! let me go ; 

For, when he is gone, can I linger below ? 
Can I stem, all alone, time's tumultuous wave, 
When the light of my life has been quenched in the 
grave ? 

1 cannot — I cannot. Father! receive 
The spirit that's broken, but yet doth believe. 

The dying eye kindled a moment, it blazed. 
As on the dear form of his mourner he gazed — 



280 EARLY BUDS. 

Mary, my Mary, my love ! but for thee, 

The waters of death were e'en sweet unto me. 

It grieves me, my darling, to leave thee alone ; 

Yet God will sustain thee, poor heart-broken one. 

0, rest on the arm that is mighty to save. 

When my voice shall be hushed in the night of the 



" My peace I leave with you,'' the Father hath said ; 

This hope will remain when all others have fled ; 

And let the thought calm thee, 'mid earth's chilling 

strife, 
We shall meet by the river — the river of life. 
Thy will be done. Father, on earth as in heaven. 
Mary ! farewell ; keep the hope he has given. 
Thy will be done, Father : she echoed it soft, 
As she kissed the cold lips that had blessed her so oft. 

'Twas wondrous, the peace that in calmness stole 
O'er the wild, dark night of her storm-tossed soul ; 
For the dying words of that faithful heart 
Had breathed a hope earth may not impart. 



EARLY BUDS. - 281 

I shall meet him again — Lord, thy will be clone. 
And she smoothed the bier of that worshipped one ; 
And as o'er his features the dark pall fell, 
The lips seemed murmuring, My love, farewell. 
O, methought it was strange, this deep, earnest faith, 
That had triumphed over the grave and death ; 
And they said 'twas religion's healing balm 
That had changed wild anguish to placid calm. 

24* 



282 EARLY BUDS. 



PART THIRD. 



" Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.' 



'rnWAS a winter day, and the wind blew cliil], 
-^ In fitful wailings, along tlie hill ; 
The tall trees rocked with a dismal sound, 



And snow's white mantle arrayed the ground. 
0, loud it howled round a dwelling old, 
That searching blast, so intensely cold, 
And rattled the casement, the hingeless door 
Of a homestead lone on the dreary moor. 

There sat a widow, whose bloom was gone 
Ere yet the years of her age came on ; 
Her face the hue of the pallid clay. 
When death has stolen the soul away. 
Her eyes were sunken ; the fire, once bright, 
Lay almost quenched in those orbs of light ; 
A look of tranquil, yet deep despair 
Was the only beam that was kindled tliere. 



EAllLY BUDS. 283 

A lady of noble birth, I ween, 
And sunnier hours had her sad heart seen ; 
The calm, proud look of her earnest gaze 
Bore faithful witness of brighter days. 
She had been the pride of her father's halls ; 
Her pictured semblance still graced the walls 
Where in maiden beauty she moved along, 
The worshipped star of a flattering throng. 

But she had turned from that crowd apart, 
And pledged her love to a faithful heart, 
One truly noble in sense and deed. 
Though her father's curse was the bitter meed. 
Yet she could have borne that it turned away 
The love which should ever have proved her stay, 
Had not the rose of her young life's wreath 
Been stricken down by the angel Death. 

And now she sat in the cheerless gloom 
Of that coldly-damp and forsaken room, 
A heart-wrung widow, and closely pressed 
A weeping child to her aching breast. 



284 EAKLY BUDS. 

But see ! she kneels on the oaken floor, 
While light seems beaming her features o'er — 
I have still a Savior, she meekly cried ; 
Our daily bread, Lord, wilt thou provide ; 
And, Father, forgive me wherein I've erred, 
For my spirit would pardon each unkind word, 
Each treacherous action that foes have done ; 
Forgive, in mercy, thou blessed One ! 

How oft they wander my memory o'er, 
The wintry day and the lone, bleak moor ; 
The cold wind piercing that dwelling bare, 
The attitude meek, the unselfish prayer ; 
That crushed heart's anguish, which even yet 
Its deep injustice would fain forget ; 
And I joy to think that e'en now, in heaven, 
The meed of faith to that soul is given. 



EARLY BUDS. 285 



PART FOURTH. 



'' Aud lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil." 

?rpWAS a summer even ; and brightly shone 
J- The pale, sweet face of the virgin moon, 
And in passing radiance the crown of night 
Gleamed rich with gems of transcendent light ; 
And the rays of those stars, in their high, pure track, 
From a gorgeous mansion reflected back. 
Where revelry, laughter, and dark vice kept 
Their unholy orgies, while others slept. 
For, woe to tell, the dark tempter there 
Urged on to ruin the young and fair ; 
And many a proud heart traced its fall 
To the gorgeous scenes of that festal hall. 

In the shade of a window, concealed from sight 
By o'erhanging drapery rich and bright, 
There stood a youth with a troubled brow, 
And eyes that rivalled the sunset glow. 



286 EARLY BUDS. 

His soul was dazzled by beauty's blaze ; 
For lovely forms, through that giddy maze, 
To the gush of music onward moved. 
woman ! shame for thy heart thus proved. 

He saw rich garlands, and gleaming light, 
And red wine flashing from goblets bright ; 
Yet slowly, sadly, he turned apart. 
With a cheerless void in his lonely heart. 
For the grass had scarcely grown tall, to wave 
O'er the green, fresh sod of his mother's grave : 
And her blessdd memory seemed to say, 
My son, 'tis the tempter — 0, haste away. 

He lingered ; he yielded. — Rejoice, rejoice ! 
That mother dead had a living voice ; 
Her hallowed precepts, her holy faith, 
Had not been hid in the grave of death ; 
As a beacon light they still brightly shone, 
To guide the steps of her youthful son, 
Whose feet were wandering, even now, 
Where her sainted form was in dust laid low. 



EARLY BUDS. . 287 

Yea, he sought her grave, and in fervor there 
His young lips murmured the holy prayer, 
" 0, lead me not in temptation's path, 
But deliver from evil, from fear, and wrath." 

And calmly he rose from that dew-bright sod, 

With an earnest faith in his mother's God, 

And plucked a bud, as he slowly left 

To seek the home of her love bereft. 

O'er his throbbing bosom he placed the flower, 

As a talisman sweet of deep magic power ; 

For that dew-gemmed bud o'er life's stormy wave 

Would whisper soft of his mother's grave. 



288 EARLY BUDS. 



PART FIFTH. 

" For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Anieu." 

X ORD, thine the kingdom, and thine the power, 
-■-^ My soul responded in that calm hour ; 
For methought how suited that prayer to thee, 
Whate'er our joy or our sorrow be. 
And thine the glory, the glory bright, 
Ascended Savior, kind Prince of Light ! 
Death's mighty Conqueror ! the conquering One, 
Now, clothed with power, on thy Father's throne. 
Yea, here on earth, and in yonder heaven, 
All praise, all power, to thy name be given. 
For the love that cheers us o'er life's lone sea 
Will waft us upward to reign with thee. 

'Tis hastening onward, that wondrous day. 
When, in wisdom's grandeur and power's display. 
The trump shall sound through the listening skies, 
While the graves shall burst and the dead shall rise. 



EARLY BUDS. 289 

And millions on millions, from near and far, 
In breathless liusli, at tliy awful bar, 
Hear that slighted mercy is ever past, 
And frowning justice awaits at last. 
But, reward of faith in their God reposed, 
The redeemed shall enter, the gates be closed ; 
And thine the kingdom, the glory then. 
Forever and ever. Amen. Amen. 

25 



I tottto imt to farpttcit. 



' Forgotten — 'tis a cold and fearful word, 
And sends a thrill of anguish through the heart." 

Mes. Piersox. 



I WOULD not be forgotten, when the tomb 
Shall hold me shrouded in its solemn gloom, 
When cold, damp clods grate on my coffin lid, 
Dust o'er my brow, and my eyes' lustre hid. 

Although my untaught lyre may never wake 
Strains that will live when its weak chords shall break, 
Though never may my unaspiring name 
Be blazoned in the chronicles of fame, — 

Yet would I have kind thoughts of me enshrined 
In many a fond heart, many a constant mind. 



EAKLY BUDS. 291 

As pure and fresh as pearly morning dew 
Of summer time, wept by the cloudlets blue. 

There are true ones that ever round me twine ; 
There are dear spirits interlinked with mine ; 
Wayward, though loving, is my nature free. 
Yet 0, 1 feel they must remember me. 

But though I'd have my memory cherished still, 
Yet not with anguish, not with restless tlirill, — 
Not with wild sorrow, not with bitter pain, 
And not with murmuring, sinful as 'tis vain ; — 

But 0, with sweet affection's hallowed spell. 
Shrined in your spirits, let my name still dwell, 
Rejoicing even for the soul gone forth, 
Bursting the links that fettered it to earth. 

Thus would I be remembered, when the tomb 
Shall hold me shrouded in its solemn gloom, — 
When cold, damp clods grate on my coffin lid, 
Dust o'er my brow, and my eyes' lustre hid. 



fote. 



" And when ten thousand myriads of years 
Shall fade into the past eternity, 
My soul will breathe the same dear words to thine - 
I love thee — O, I love thee." 

Geoege D. Pbentice, 



rilHY spell, thy spell is on my soul ; 
-*- I float the clouds above ; 
And nothing feel, and nothing know. 
Save love — deep, deathless love ; - 

Love that is sweeter, sweeter far 
Than dew to fainting flowers, — 

Love pure as that by angels known 
In heaven's immortal bowers ; — 

Love — deep and soul-absorbing love ■ 
At which e'en death must quail, 



EARLY BUDS. 293 

All-powerless to subdue its strength 
By the grave's cold, dim veil, 

T mount, I mount o'er earthly things ; 

I'm thine, love — only thine ; 
And life, and death, and hope, and heaven 

Proclaim thee ever mine. 

25* 



«I1J ilMOTW. 



' Old memories, old memories — 

What precious things they are I 
How close they cling around the heart I 
How dearly cherished there I " 



LONELY, lonely, lonely : 
How dark and still the hour ! 
Old memories come thronging up 
With deep and stirring power. 

The young, the loved, the lost ones 
Now meet my spirit's gaze ; 

Yes, they are passing round me. 
Those forms of other days. 

And memory's pencil paints them 
Gay as they were e'en when 



EARLY BUDS. 295 

With me they plucked the wild flowers 
In childhood's sunny glen. 

Their bright eyes beam upon me 

With joy, and hope, and love ; 
And their sweet lips seem to whisper, 

Come to our home above. 

Would I had perished with them. 

As a flower, when fades the sun, 
Closes its languid petals 

Ere the dreary night comes on. 

But one there is among them 

Whom I remember well. 
With form of seraph brightness, 

And voice a witching spell — 

Our last, our gentlest sister, 

The darling of our home ; 
And with her fled its light and life. 

Its brightness and its bloom. 



296 EARLY BUDS. 

Sweet Adelaide ! — memory ! cease ; 

My spirit must repine ; 
Too many buried hopes are linked 

With that dear name of thine. 

0, time may soften bitter grief, 
And heal the deepest wound ; 

And hearts, now bound with care and woe. 
Once more with joy may bound. 

Yet, sister, still I'll think of thee ; 

Thy memory, pure and bright, 
Through life's lone vale shall ever be 

My guiding beacon light. 

And when the fitful dream is o'er, 
When gathers death's dark gloom, 

Thou'lt wait me on the other shore. 
And greet thy sister home. 



%Q % Spirit 0f Prs. Jmani 

SOUL of the living notes of song, that must forever 
stay, 
Sweeping their deathless streams along life's weary, 

desert way, 
The lonely lyre, that thou hast left, floats on the winds 

unstrung, 
For there are none to wake its chords to strains which 
thou hast sunff. 



We hear it in the rolling floods, that rush in ceaseless 

flow. 
And in the groves of summer woods, when soft winds 

whisper low ; 



298 EARLY BUDS. 

And on the tempest's wing 'tis borne, in glorious music 

sound, 
And restless waves of ocean's breast reecho it 

around ; — 

But in the far-off halls of home, the halls where first je 

met, 
'Tis there, o'er thousand nameless things, the music 

lingers yet ; 
And deeply slirined in English breasts, a high, a holy 

thing. 
That never may be borne away upon Time's mighty 



O, soaring, could my longing soul but grasp thy lofty 

strain. 
Then might it feel, then proudly know, it had not lived 

in vain. 
Sweet spirit, give, 0, give thy lyre ; 'tis useless now to 

thee ; 
Thou hast a higher, nobler harp — then give it unto 

me. 



EARLY BUDS. 299 

Embedded deeply in my soul there lieth hidden 
springs, 

That gush to sounds of love and heaven, and all im- 
mortal things. 

And 0, my lyre is all too weak to sing the songs that 
play 

Forever on my spirit's strings in dreams by night and 

day. 

» 

Give me thy wondrous power to sing of mighty love 

and death ; 
Of lustre that, in radiance, beams around the victor's 

wreath ; 
Of hope, of high, immortal hope, that nevermore can 

die, 
But reacheth upward, upward still, scaling the starry 

sky. 

Impart to me thy own high gift, that gift of Heaven's 

love. 
To tell of glory that surrounds the paradise 

above, 



300 EARLY BUDS. 

Where brightness glows, that mortal heart in dreams 

may never bring, 
Or grasp in boldest, highest flights of fancy's soaring 

wing. 

Yea, give to me thy lyre, that now floats mournfully 

around, 
And let me sweep its chords again, those chords of 

deathless sound ; 
And take the lingering echoes up, that play its strings 

along, 
Till, bursting forth, they rise and swell in rushing 

waves of song. 

And I will give it back to thee, when we together 

stand 
Beside the lucid founts and streams of Heaven's own 

glorious land ; 
I will not pluck a single leaf from thy rich wreath of 

fame. 
But strive to swell the paean song that floats around 

thy name. 



EARLY BUBS. 301 

Yet this is vain — is vain, weak heart ; ye may not e'en 

in dreams 
Grasp the high thoughts, or sound the depths, of such 

immortal themes : 
Yet time may come when my rapt soul beside thine 

own shall stand, 
To chant for aye the eternal hymn in glory's fadeless 

land ! 

26 



®I]e Angers Wmt ta (Biixili. 

AN angel came from the land of light 
On the glittering pinions of glory bright, 
To search, 'mid the sin-stained things of earth. 
For a spotless gem of the purest worth. 

But long he wandered ere yet he found 
The pure, bright pearl on unholy ground, 
Though he sought 'midst the city's gilded domes, 
Where the rich and the proud had made their homes. 

Though he strayed in the forest, where streams gusbo 

free, 
And bright birds warbled on every tree, 



EAULY BUDS. 303 

And loveliest tints to the earth were given, 
Yet he found no gem that was meet for heaven. 

His wing grew weary, his robe was soiled ; 
On a fruitless errand the angel toiled ; 
And he lifted his drooping plumes, to fly 
To his own bright home in the far-off sky. 

But he wept as he murmured. How sad they'll be 
That earth has no beauty from sin stain free ! 
And he lingered still, as if loath to go 
Till bearing some pearl from the scenes below. 

Then he saw a cottage, 'midst wreathing vines 
Whose clasping tendrils did clinging twine, 
From which came the song of a mother's love, 
So sweet that it tarried his flight above. 

I must leave thee, my baby, 

The mother sang ; 
I am young, yet death's shadows 

Around me hang. 



304 EARLY BUDS. 

I shall guide thy feet 

By our cottage door, 
My lisping darling, 

No more, no more. 

0, long, my baby, 
Thou mayst not rest, 

Clasped close, as now, 
To thy mother's breast. 

Thou shalt wake at morning, 

But not to see 
My joyous smile 

At thy childish glee. 

Though thy wailing cries 
May be answered still, 

When thy mother comes not 
Her place to fill, — 

Yet thou shalt never 
Know love as true 



EAKLY BUDS. 305 

As thrills m}' bosom, 
Sweet babe, for you. 

0, would I could shield thee 

In my fond breast. 
And bear thee up 

To the home of rest ! 

And the mother's tears 

Bathed the baby's brow, 
As she wailing murmured, 

Would thou couldst go ! 

And the angel wept, and the angel smiled. 
As he bore from the brow of the sleeping child. 
On glittering wings, to his own pure sphere, 
That hallowed jewel, the mother's tear. 

26* 



Mlmter Wimt 



" They touch the links of memory 
Around our spirits twined ; 
And we start, and weep, and tremble 
To the -wind, the wandering wind." 

Mrs. IlEMAifs. 



TTTAIL on, wail on, wild winter wind ! 

* ^ O'er heath, and moor, and fell ; 
The glorious music of thy tones 
Doth please my spirit well. 

Ay, music richer, sweet far 
Than that by minstrel given ; 

It bears me upward on its wings, 
E'en to the gate of heaven. 

Wail on, wild spirit of the blast ! 
With mad, resistless sweep, 



EARLY BUDS. 307 

The waters of my soul are stirred, 
And cannot, will not sleep. 

Thou surely hast some wondrous charm, 

Some deep, mysterious power ; 
For buried memories of the past 

Come thronging to this hour. 

Strange, strange that in thy mournful notes 

There is a potent spell. 
That bears me back to tread the haunts 

My childhood loved so well. 

I wander by the river's brink, 

I watch the glad waves play ; 
I lave my brow, I stoop to drink — 

The bright dream fades away. 

Another comes — the scene is changed — 

I am a school girl now. 
And conning o'er my weary task 

With earnest, thoughtful brow. 



308 EARLY BUDS. 

Anon the hour of noon has come ; 

I dash my books away, 
And lightly bound the greensward o'er, 

With happy ones to play. 

And on the panorama moves — 

A woman fills the place. 
With all a woman's hopes and fears 

O'ershadowing her face. 

Her earnest and enduring love. 

Her deep, abiding faith, 
Her sympathies — and. Father ! all 

Are mightier than death. 

The future lies before me now ; 

But all my efforts fail 
To penetrate the mysteries 

That shroud her shadowy vale. 

Whate'er my lot, — though life be long, 
Or fears be early past, — 



EARLY BUDS. 309 

Father ! let thy pitying hand 
Temper the stormy blast. 

winter winds ! these are the thoughts 

Thy wild, exulting swell 
Stirs in my inmost soul ; and yet, 

Wail on — I love ye well. 

And when the grave receives my form 

To its dark, shrouded gloom, 
Then chant in solemn, dirge-like tones 

A requiem o'er my tomb. 



THE END . 



